


Foolish Pride

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 00:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: When their ex-lovers come to the cottage on holiday, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Fingon must face some aspects of their past that have been long-buried.





	Foolish Pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnEllspethRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/gifts).



“So this is the place!” Gildor had both arms wrapped around Maedhros as they walked into the cottage, but left his side to embrace Glorfindel once they were inside. “Everything looks just as you said in your letters! It has been ever so long - you must let me draw you! Oh, but, first, a tour of your stately home, perhaps?”

Glorfindel reached to the side and took the bottle of red wine Maedhros held out to him and smiled. “I am glad you finally had an opportunity to come and see it. There most certainly will be a tour, and if you really want to waste your time drawing me, I shall be your willing model.” They walked into the great room next, where Fingon sat with a cat on his lap, a dog at his feet, and a book in his hand. “Of course, you both know Kano,” he said, as if Fingon was part of the tour. He placed the wine on the counter they had appropriated as a makeshift bar as the cat jumped to the floor and took up residence on a chair, as if to say ‘my chair’ before he began to lick his leg and glare at Maedhros.

“How very nice to see you, Fingon!” greeted Gildor cheerfully.

Fingon stretched now that he was not keeping still on account of his feline companion. “Good to see you as well, Inglorion. Maedhros,” he added, trying not to make it sound like an afterthought.

Maedhros gave a polite nod, swept the room with his eyes, and remarked, “I expected more cats.”

“I can go get you some from the barn,” offered Fingon. He tossed the book on the arm of the couch and leaned back further, arms over his head. As he scratched his wrist, he added, “I know you may find it hard to believe, but I actually prefer the companionship of people to cats.”

“Could have fooled me,” said Maedhros.

“Boys,” said Gildor before the conversation could escalate. “Glorfindel, where is dear Erestor?”

That was when Fingon stood up, and Maedhros blurted out, “The fuck did you do to your hair?”

“The fuck do you care?”

Gildor heaved a sigh. “Boys. Now---” He paused and tilted his head. “Actually, Fingon, what the fuck did you do?”

Fingon turned his head and rubbed the back of his head. “Like it?”

“No,” said Maedhros while Gildor nodded approvingly. “It looks terrible!” continued his ex-lover. “It was fine just how it was. You hardly look like an elf now - no, scratch that, you look like someone’s prisoner! No one wants to watch you dance looking like that. It is going to take forever for you to grow your hair back!”

“Who said I was growing it back?”

In the midst of the stunned silence from Maedhros that filled the room, there was noise from another room. Erestor suddenly entered, and the dog ran over to greet him. “Oh, good. You found the place.”

“Glorfindel drew an excellent map,” commended Gildor, grateful for the change of topic. To Fingon, he mouthed silently, ‘It looks sexy - I would watch you dance,’ and Fingon chuckled, and Maedhros still stood without saying another word. 

“I have not started supper yet because I did not know when you would arrive, and I was not sure if we wanted to go into town to have something instead,” said Glorfindel. “There is a really nice Telerin place on the coast.”

“They make the best soup,” piped up Fingon. “And, it would let us all chat. Otherwise we will lose Glorfindel to the kitchen for three or four hours.”

“No -- not the kitchen!” Gildor dramatically placed the back of his hand to his forehead. “Anything but the kitchen!” He stood up straight again and released his hold of Maedhros, something catching his eye. “Come here,” he said to Glorfindel, crooking a finger.

Glorfindel furrowed his brow, but approached obediently. He stepped closer, and closer yet as Gildor continued to insistently beckon him. “Oh. My. Goodness,” he said when he reached around and loosened the ribbon that held Glorfindel’s hair back. The fluffy, bouncy curls proved irresistible for Gildor, who kneaded them uninvited. “You said nothing of this in your letters. This is so cuuuute!” He looked over his shoulder at Erestor. “Was this your idea?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Erestor. “Not that I am not fully supportive,” he quickly added.

“Troublemaker,” announced Fingon as he pointed at himself. “Guilty as charged.”

Gildor pulled his hands back after Maedhros cleared his throat. “I give it a ten,” declared Gildor. He looked to Maedhros for similar approval, but Maedhros only shrugged. Gildor shook his head, but he lifted himself up on the tips of his toes to smooch Maedhros on the cheek. “So this is your handiwork, Fingon?”

“That part was Erestor,” said Glorfindel. He was blushing a bit from the attention, and wished he had stayed by the counter with the wine. “I think he did a nice job cutting and styling it for me.”

“Oh, if if was Erestor, then, yes, it looks nice,” agreed Maedhros. 

Fingon laughed cynically, and shook his head as he picked up his book. “So it is going to be like this all week, is it, Russandol?”

“You tell me,” came the cool response.

“Boys,” tried Gildor again. “Just, no. Do not make me force you to hug or something.”

“Gross,” came the reaction from Fingon. Maedhros just gave Gildor a challenging look.

“I could show you to your room,” offered Glorfindel. This seemed to appease Maedhros, for he gave a curt nod and followed Glorfindel out of the room. 

Gildor, however, did not leave. “If this is going to be awkward, I also made arrangements for a room at a nearby inn,” he said. “I was… actually thinking it might be for our mutual benefit,” he said as he turned slightly and motioned between himself and Erestor. “However, I should have realized that there would still be tension between you and Maitimo,” he said as he looked back to Fingon.

Erestor shrugged. “I obviously knew you were coming, and how long you were going to stay. If I had issue with it, I would have said something to begin with.” 

“He even picked flowers to put in your room,” added Fingon.

“Call it a peace offering,” said Erestor.

Gildor smiled at this, but looked to Fingon. “Would you prefer we stay elsewhere? I will not be offended.”

“No… I can be nice,” said Fingon, but it came out half-groaned. “Glorfindel has been looking forward to this for a while.”

“In that case, we should definitely go elsewhere for dinner - my treat,” insisted Gildor. 

\----

The five were now sitting at a table so close to the shore that the taste of seasalt was in the air. Everyone was able to agree on one thing - they really did have the best soup any of them had ever tasted. They were partaking of dessert when a lad came to the table to offer them a flyer listing the local events for the evening. “We must look like tourists,” said Fingon.

“Technically, we have not lived here that long,” reminded Erestor. “I still feel like a visitor at times.”

Gildor was the one with the flyer, and he skimmed it as he spoke. “I spent so much of my life traveling that I feel more comfortable wandering around than I do in one place for any long period of time. In fact, every time someone has invited us somewhere or we have the thought to go somewhere on a whim, I have done whatever is needed to facilitate it happening.”

“As have I,” said Maedhros. “My father used to move us around from time to time, especially after Morgoth became a regular visitor everywhere. I never figured out if he was doing it to confuse him, or if he really liked traveling, or my mother just hated it and he was doing it to spite her.”

“Your father is a very complex man,” said Erestor. He addressed Gildor now, who was seemingly reading something over and over. “Did you find something of interest this evening? Some of the shows begin late, so we just might catch one.”

“Interesting, maybe?” Gildor looked over the sheet he held. “What was the name of that other fellow who lived here with you?”

“Beleg?” offered Glorfindel.

Gildor shook his head. “No, the one you refer to as Mr. Prick, dear.”

“He means in my letters,” explained Glorfindel quickly as his ears and cheeks began to tint pink. 

“Yes, Mr. Prick-of-the-Letters,” confirmed Gildor. “What was Mr. Prick’s first name?”

“Faelion,” answered Fingon to save Glorfindel the embarrassment.

“House of the Harp?” continued Gildor.

Glorfindel nodded. “Why do you ask?”

Gildor turned the sheet around for the others to see. “He appears to be the final act this evening at a place called The Dancing Pants Tavern.”

“Interesting,” was all Erestor said.

“Huh.” Fingon sipped his coffee, for he alone skipped the temptation of a sweet treat following their meal. “That pub is pretty… small. Compared to other venues he is usually performing at.”

“By the time I left him, he was no longer able to headline at any of the large theatres. Perhaps he is taking opportunities at some of the smaller places now because being the main act at a small place means more to him than being an opener at the large venues,” suggested Glorfindel.

“What is this ‘night joust’?” asked Maedhros of another item noted on the paper.

Thankful for the change in conversation, Glorfindel explained the event. “The joust is staged ahead of time. It is purely for entertainment, and those who are involved are very theatrical and take up personas for different historical people or they just make up characters.”

“Once they did a pair that I swear were supposed to be based on Turgon and I,” interrupted Fingon. “It was very amusing.”

“They change the characters every performance season,” added Glorfindel. “Sometimes they have a special one at the end of the year, but otherwise from early spring to late fall, it is the same show every night. There are two - the one at dusk is more for families. The later one is at midnight and can get rowdy. They use torches to illuminate the field for the earlier show, but the later joust is much darker. The riders illuminate their shields, barding, lances, and armor with luminescent paint. Some of the art is very, very good.”

“I want to go to this,” said Maedhros to Gildor.

Gildor nodded. “It sounds like fun. Can we make it to the early show in time?” he asked Glorfindel.

“If we leave now, we might make it in before the gates close.”

Maedhros scooped the remainder of his chocolate mousse into one large spoonful and shoved it into his mouth while Gildor motioned for their server to come to the table so that he could pay the bill. Erestor tried to object, but Gildor persisted with the promise that Erestor could take care of the evening’s entertainment.

The jousting field had multiple purposes, just as many things on the island did. Fingon had been the one to discover the night joust, and he discussed with Gildor as they walked closer to their destination and further from the cottage how he still found time in his schedule to guest coach aspiring gymnasts. “In the daytime, they use it for practice or for competitions. Then they pull all of the equipment and in the late afternoon it gets used for riding lessons, and the joust in the evenings. It is the field that never sleeps.”

“And yet, so tiny!” Gildor shook his head as they approached. There were eight gates to choose from, each displaying a different set of colored banners and flags, and squires at the doors greeting those who entered. “Which one do we pick?” he asked.

“Red,” replied Maedhros before there was an explanation.

“We can go to the red one. The ones on the red team - er, house - usually have some questionable morals and align with the ones in black and silver,” said Glorfindel.

“So these are different teams,” said Gildor. Glorfindel nodded. “Can we sit together if we pick different teams?”

“If we picked teams that were next to each other. So, for example, red and blue or red and green, because the seating for red is between blue and green, but not green and blue.”

“Oh, I see,” said Gildor after Glorfindel pointed to the different gates. He turned to Maedhros. “I think it would be fun for you and I to pick a team-”

“Red,” he said again.

“-and for them to pick a different team, but we can sit next to each other.”

“There will be an aisle between us,” added Erestor. “The vendors walk up and down to sell trifles to visitors.”

Maedhros looked pointedly at Fingon as he said, “An aisle separating us will be perfect.”

“A really wide aisle, if possible,” suggested Fingon.

“Boys…” Gildor clicked his tongue. “Blue or green, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel looked to consult with his companions. Erestor shrugged. “You would pick black,” he noted, and Erestor grinned and shrugged. “He always picks black when we let him,” Glorfindel told the others.

“Flip a coin if you cannot decide,” remarked Fingon, “for they look as if they will close the gates soon.”

“Blue,” answered Erestor as he tugged on Glorfindel’s sleeve. “Fingon is right; they are closing the gates.”

“Oh!” Gildor sprinted forward to stall the gatekeepers while the others hurried their pace. Gildor quite successfully managed to distract the squires at both the red and blue gate long enough for the rest of the party to stumble in, and he cheekily even closed the red door behind as he entered. There was a rail separating the two groups, and Gildor spent his time waving ridiculously at those in the blue queue as he and Maedhros shuffled forward to the line of ladies holding baskets of flowers and taking payment for the event. 

Erestor leaned over the barrier and handed Gildor a few coins. “You should have enough there for admission and flowers or flags or whatever they are selling tonight.”

“Aw, Erestor is buying me flowers,” Gildor said to Maedhros as he clung to his arm. “So many flowers from Erestor today.” 

“Nice,” was all Maedhros responded. He was looking around the venue, observing the sloping ceiling and the movement not far ahead of squires and pages running about. “Those kids should be in bed,” he said of the youngest ones.

“They are all performers,” said Erestor as he dropped a few coins into the palm of one of the ladies, and then selected two blue flowers from her basket. 

“They should still be in bed.” Maedhros followed Gildor to a stall where a variety of ribbons and small flags on wooden sticks were available for purchase. He nodded at everything Gildor showed him and pointed to, and accepted the handheld flag with red and black ribbons tied to it that Gildor bought for him. He held the stick between his teeth as he manipulated the fingers of the glove that was buckled to his right wrist. It had wires sewn into the leather and the fingers were filled with lightweight clay that did not dry - something his own mother invented. It allowed him to arrange the faux hand in many different ways, including a fist, which he did now before he shoved the end of the stick into the clenched fingers. “If I was their father, they would be in bed,” he emphasized as another youngling ran past with a basket of treats to sell to the audience. 

“Of course they would be, dear,” said Gildor. He booped the end of his flag on the tip of Maedhros’ nose, and even Fingon had to smile when Maedhros did. “We will see you inside!” called out Gildor as he and Maedhros headed into the arena to find seats. 

Fingon was poking at items available from the stall on their side of the barrier. “Do either of you want any of these things?” he asked.

Glorfindel, who had a small collection of the jousting mathoms as Erestor referred to them, joined Fingon and examined the items for sale. “I think I have most of these,” he said as he looked at the flags. 

“But… do you have this one?” Fingon pulled a blue banner with a contorted silhouette of a dragon painted in white. When Glorfindel shook his head, Fingon dropped a coin into the hand of the youngling minding the cart and handed the little flag to Glorfindel. He was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek as Erestor approached them. 

They were alone, save for the vendors and the page who looked about to shoo them into the arena. Erestor, who jokingly began with, “One of you may need to help me up,” took to one knee before them, and took hold first of Glorfindel’s hand. “How fortunate I am, to find before me beauties such as that which one finds only in dreams! As radiant and resplendent as the two trees -- wait! Nay, more so than that!” He kissed the back of Glorfindel’s hand, and still holding it, offered to him one of the flowers. “I beg thee, take this as a token of my sincerest devotion to you.”

Glorfindel chuckled as he accepted the flower and leaned over to kiss Erestor upon the cheek. “I shall indeed, kind sir,” he said in return.

Erestor kissed Glorfindel’s hand again before he let it go and reached for Fingon’s hand, which was already being proffered. “And to you, fair Findekano, I offer the same - though it is but a diminutive offering when compared to your charm.”

“I accept with wholehearted gratitude,” answered Fingon, but instead of taking the flower from Erestor, he grasped his wrist and pulled him up for a proper yet restrained kiss. Only then did he take his gift and link an arm with Erestor, who did the same with Glorfindel, and the three walked abreast into the arena and up into the stands where Gildor was waving with both arms, lest they forget their promises to sit across the aisle from their ex-lovers. “Does anyone want anything to eat?”

“Not at the moment,” said Glorfindel. “Though, I suppose we could get something from the vendors now before they begin.” However, he was reminded of how late they were in getting to the event, for trumpets sounded, and they scrambled up to the benches just before the announcements were made.

“Well, drat,” said Gildor to Erestor, for they were the ones along the aisle (with Maedhros and Fingon furthest from one another, whether accidental or deliberate). “You have the better looking knight. You should have told me the blue knight was a blond!”

“Just what is wrong with brunets?” asked Erestor, but the trumpets sounded again and swallowed Gildor’s answer, and then there was a woman sitting in front of them who shushed Erestor as he asked Gildor to repeat himself, and they generally remained quiet for the remainder of the joust, except to cheer their knights and jeer their companions when something went amiss with the opposite competitor. 

After the second round, the blue knight was knocked out of the competition, and although the red knight appeared to be headed for the finals, his mock beheading was carried out when it was found he had cheated against the green knight, who was grievously “injured” and declared that the silver knight should take up his banner for him. The end result was the silver knight winning over the black, who had been in league with the red and purple knights. “I very much enjoyed that,” said Gildor once the knights all came out to show no one was really hurt or deceased, prompting applause from those in attendance. “We must come here again sometime.”

“There is another show,” Maedhros reminded him. “We can stay for it.”

The expression on Gildor’s face as seen by Erestor would suggest that Gildor had not enjoyed the event that much. Gildor turned around and sat back down again, for Maedhros had not left his spot for the entire joust. “We could. We could do that.”

Maedhros did not need to turn his head to read the reaction. “You hated it.”

“No, darling, no!” Gildor shifted closer and put his arm around Maedhros. “I think you just enjoyed it more. I do not think I could be tempted to watch another show, especially not on this rough bench.”

“I can see if they sell cushions.” Maedhros waited a moment before he cracked a smile. “I would not make you sit through another one,” he said as he stood up. 

“This reminds me of something,” said Erestor as he looked over his shoulder at Glorfindel.

Glorfindel, who had been silent, now made the suggestion. “If you want to watch another show, I would be more than happy to stay. There have been a few occasions when I have attended on my own, so I would welcome the company.”

“A few?” Fingon put his arms around Glorfindel and nuzzled his shoulder, completely ignoring a look of disgust from a couple who passed between Erestor and Gildor as they left the viewing area. “I would say instead that Glorfindel much enjoys attending, and on a few occasions manages to get Erestor and I to come along.”

“That makes sense,” said Gildor. “I would expect the two of you would rather ride the horses than watch.”

“Excuse me, please,” interrupted one of the young pages deemed too young by Maedhros to be out so late. “Do you intend to stay for the second show? If so, I must see your tickets.”

All five had a brief discussion on the matter (with the exception of Fingon and Maedhros, who refused to speak directly to one another, opting for such phrases as ‘If he is staying, I certainly plan not to’) which ended in Glorfindel relocating to the red side with Maedhros, and Gildor handing the page enough to cover the cost of Glorfindel and Maedhros staying, plus a bit extra for the boy’s troubles (few though they likely were in Valinor). The other three said their farewells with kisses before leaving with a promise to return home in a few hours.

Gildor was walking backwards and juggling a handful of peanuts he had not eaten from the time spent at the joust as they emerged back outside of the venue. “So, to the Slappy Pants Tavern, then?” he asked when neither Erestor or Fingon said anything. 

“Dancing Pants Tavern,” corrected Erestor. 

“My name is better,” Gildor informed him.

“Regardless, why would we want to go there?”

“Oh. Right. I want to go there,” said Gildor. “I really need to see Mr. Prick in person.”

Erestor frowned. “You were in Gondolin. You know Faelion.”

“Not really,” countered Gildor. One of the peanuts escaped, and he concentrated harder on the remaining ones, his steps slowing a bit. “I know he was in Gondolin. Maybe I met him at some point. Unlike you, I was not locked away for the better part of that age.” When Erestor narrowed his eyes at Gildor, he continued with, “I meant in a big city with an extraordinary number of gates in a time when most of the worst villains were prone to an aerial assault, but, if you prefer to take it based on number of days spent in a cell, sure, you exceeded my count on that as well.”

Fingon quickened his pace so that he was very close to Gildor and began to snatch the peanuts out of the air, until he had all six and Gildor had none. “How long have you and Glorfindel been penpals?” he asked as he shoved half of the nuts into his pocket and slowly juggled the others with far less finesse than Gildor.

“That started off a little weird,” said Gildor as he continued to walk backwards. “I received a letter from him shortly before the wedding. He told me in no uncertain terms not to attend, but it was just not his words, if that makes sense. I felt he was being coached or something. Still, Maedhros and I chose not to attend or even be near the venue, even though we live within walking distance of where they held the reception. We watched from our porch that night,” he admitted. 

 

“I wanted to write back to him, but I also thought it might be best to give him some time, in case that was how he really felt. When I did write to him, I used a pseudonym on the envelope. At first, I thought it was too clever and he did not understand it was from me, or he knew and burned it and that was all, but then after about a year and a half -- so a little over two years from the wedding - he contacted me. I could tell things were wrong, and by the third letter I was certain. He was telling me things about this woman who had joined them as a surrogate, but I could tell that was not really how he felt. I advised him to confront Mr. Prick, but he was afraid of what would happen,” said Gildor sadly. “I am sure you know more about all of this than I.”

Erestor was staring at the ground and shook his head. Fingon sighed. “He does not speak much about that part of his life. Perhaps, since he spoke with you in confidence, we should not hear more.”

“I am going to be blunt,” said Gildor. “I am tired of that sweet boy being fucked over by other people -- and, honestly Erestor, you were on that list at one time, but so was I.”

Erestor looked up. “Noted. Glad you included yourself. I might have punched you in the face again if you had not.”

“The person who needs to be punched in the face is Mr. Prick,” decided Fingon. He pocketed two more peanuts and shelled the third. He tossed one into the air and caught it in his mouth.

Gildor jogged a few extra paces away and motioned that Fingon should toss one to him, which he caught with ease. “Getting back to Mr. Prick, yes, he does seem to deserve a punch in the face. When it was evident from the letters that Mr. Prick was not going to try to find common ground with Glorfindel over the matter with the woman -- whose name I never was given, as she was just known as 'The Woman' in his letters -- I knew I had to work to convince him to get out of there. I do think he was trying not to be too mean, and wanted to try to make things work, but I believe I may have been a little harsher in his place.”

“In his place, you would likely have left or spoken your mind or both,” said Erestor.

Gildor nodded slowly, gaze never leaving Erestor. “You know that firsthand.”

When Erestor did not confirm, and Gildor said nothing further, Fingon retrieved another peanut and shelled it. “I feel as if I am missing a lot of things due to a lack of historical knowledge.”

“Give me my peanuts back and I will enlighten you,” offered Gildor. Once they were deposited in Gildor’s hand he began to juggle them once more. “Did your loverboy ever tell you he and I were briefly a couple in the Second Age?”

Fingon did not look surprised. “I listen to rumors.”

Gildor looked to Erestor, as if to give him a chance to explain. When it was evident that Erestor did not intend to incriminate himself, Gildor pressed further. “Did he also tell you about the night he got really drunk and I caught him in a tent with Maglor and Galugil?”

“I almost want to know more, but I also think I should let some things regarding past lives be a mystery,” answered Fingon.

Erestor now jumped in. “There was no actual intercourse, and any touching between Maglor and I was accidental! It was Galugil who insisted on--”

Gildor caught all of the peanuts and handed them back to Fingon, and then held up his hand before Erestor could continue. “It did not matter then, and it does not matter now. I have little -- no, I have no tolerance of lovers who are unfaithful, whether accidental or on purpose. That hurt. A lot. I was not going to stay in that relationship. I advised Glorfindel as much when he wrote to me about Mr. Prick and what was going on. Glorfindel kept writing to me over and over it would get better, but it only got worse. I offered several times for him to come and stay with Maedhros and I, but he refused. Then I received a letter one day and it was addressed from Alqualondë, and I was so relieved before I even opened it. I knew. I knew he finally left.”

They reached the place in the pathway where it split off to the theatre district, the docks, and back to the trail that would lead to the cottage. There was even a weathered sign that directed visitors to Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva, though the paint had all but flaked off, and it had a crack down the center. Fingon straightened the sign despite the fact a strong wind would blow it crooked again soon. “We should go to this tavern and wait for Faelion after the show and punch him in the face.”

Gildor decided to follow Fingon’s example, and straightened the other signs as well. “So, each one of us gets a go at him? I like this idea.”

Erestor frowned. “I would be interested to know his side of the story. I mean -- it is probably filled with lies anyhow, or exaggerations at the very least, but I would be curious to hear his side of things.”

“That seems fair,” agreed Fingon.

Gildor grinned. “And then we punch him.”

“I am not punching anyone,” said Erestor as he followed the other two down the path that would take them to the tavern. “I would like to know what happened, in his words, before I pass judgement.”

“I am all for punching this bastard,” said Fingon. “This is the same asshole who--”

“What?” prodded Erestor, setting a hand on Fingon’s shoulder as they all continued to walk past the few residences that were along the path before the inns and theatres came into view.

Fingon sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Shit, well, you should know what happened. Remember for a while he thought it was perfect that there were four of us, and it was two pairs, and he thought maybe he and I should pair off?”

“I do remember that. Very well, in fact,” said Erestor. “I was not particularly in favor of what he was trying to do. He wanted you to himself, but he still wanted Glorfindel.”

“Why am I never involved with fun things like this?” interrupted Gildor. “I truly need to visit more often. Is it something in the water? Or just that house that causes such scandalous multi-party adult adventures?”

“Probably just me,” said Fingon. “I seem to be pretty central to things like this. Suffice to say, Faelion suddenly had this great idea one day that he would be the one to 'solve' my 'problem'.”

Gildor furrowed his brow. “Now I feel as if I am missing something. What problem did he believe he was going to fix?” He and the others moved to one side of the pathway as a small group emerged from a theatre that seemed to have just ended the show. “The fact you were not attached to anyone at that time?”

Fingon waited until the crowd dispersed before he spoke again. “The fact I was, and still am, a virgin, and not particularly interested in sexual encounters.”

A look of intrigue crossed Gildor’s face. “None at all?”

“At least nothing that would be classified as coitus or sodomy.”

“Hmm.” Gildor gave Erestor a look of pity before addressing Fingon again. “That seems a bit limiting as it would pertain to sex, but certainly allows room for creativity. I suppose Faelion thought he was going to be your savior like he proposed to be for Glorfindel. I think one of the things which was most upsetting to me was the part where Faelion was insistent upon referring to Glorfindel with feminine pronouns in an attempt to ease Glorfindel into the role of being what Faelion referred to as 'gender non-specific', but he stopped allowing use of masculine pronouns until Glorfindel was ready to accept the feminine ones, and it just seemed very...

“Asinine?” supplied Fingon.

“Sure. That works.”

Fingon kicked a branch in their path onto the grass. “As long as we are being open and forthcoming about all of it, I will tell you, I just about lost it with Faelion when he was still living with us.” He was looking at Erestor now as he spoke. “He never asked if I had interest in things, he just assumed he was going to help me get to that point. He never actually did anything -- I stopped him each time, and after the, gosh, fifth time perhaps, I sat him down and quite seriously told him I was not comfortable with his advances, and I was not comfortable with his methods, and I wanted him to leave me alone. He came back with an accusation that I was leading all of you on, especially him, and if I had no plans to be fully accepting of the relationship, I should stop teasing everyone and stay out of the bed.”

As the tale was told, Erestor chewed at his bottom lip. “I wondered why you went back to sleeping in your own room,” he said. “Faelion acted as if nothing was wrong, but I knew something had to have transpired.” He reached over and took hold of Fingon’s hand.

Fingon squeezed it back. “It was lonely, but honestly, I was not going to cause a rift between you and Glorfindel and him. I knew I could take care of myself at that point, and we were all in the same house where I could see you on a regular basis.” Fingon turned his head to address Gildor. “At that point, I had grown very close to Erestor. Glorfindel and Faelion seemed to be getting closer and closer, and that was confirmed to me one night when I woke up in the early hours and came to the common room to find Erestor sleeping on the couch.”

“It was not the first time. It was just the first time he found out about it,” said Erestor to Gildor. “Some nights, if Glorfindel and Faelion were in the midst of some sort of intimacy, they locked the door. Eventually I got so upset that I took the lock off of the door. We had a huge argument about it, and I said fine, put the damned lock on. That next night, it was locked again, so I went into town to find a room somewhere. I should have gone to Fingon's room. It would have avoided all of the problems I had from that.”

"Hindsight is always in focus," replied Fingon. He put his arm around Erestor and cuddled against his side. "At least we have each other now."

“What happened in town?” asked Gildor.

“I was drugged, I think, and poisoned, or perhaps just poisoned. I spent several months completely unconscious, and Glorfindel thought I had used that powder you introduced me to,” Erestor said. “Whomever orchestrated it all knew enough about me to make it seem like I had. There was powder on my face, under my nose. Thank Eru that Cirdan showed up when I was found, and had sense enough in the panic to take a sample and save it for Elrond to examine, and to have someone swab inside my nose.”

“Wait. That was him?” Fingon stopped and put his arm up in front of Gildor to block him from walking any further. 

“In small doses, the effects can be rather invigorating,” said Gildor.

The arm was lowered, but Fingon did not begin to walk again just yet. “I find myself generally liking you, but I must warn you, if that was not the case, that bit of information would have earned you at least one punch in the face, if not two.”

“Noted. I like to remind everyone that I cannot be held accountable for actions taken that are not my own.”

Fingon started forward again at a slower pace after drawing Erestor to his side. “I am all about cause and effect. Saying you take no responsibility for Erestor’s addiction is like saying I cannot be at fault for four people expiring on the shores of Alqualonde because their blood was unable to clot in a timely manner.”

“Mmmm… beg to differ on that one,” Gildor replied, his voice not as mirthful as usual. “Has Erestor ever shared with you the state he was in when I found him at the dawn of the Second Age?”

“Erestor shares that information with no one,” said Erestor quietly. “Though, for my part, Gildor, I do not blame you for any of it. He is right, Kano, I chose to take more and more of that stuff, and to disregard his recommendations on quantity, quality, and daily use.”

“Daily use was never part of our conversations,” Gildor quickly interjected. “It was and is medicinal for stress, fatigue, depression, and anxiety.” Gildor ground his teeth and walked a few more paces before he blurted out, “Dammit, Erestor, tell him what happened. You need not do it now, but I am not the one who is going to be able to help you. You may not think I give a damn about you, and all my adoration is focused on Glorfindel in your relationship, but I actually do care about your wellbeing -- for his sake, yes, and for yours. As for Fingon, well, I arrived with the expectation that I was not going to be able to get along with you, so this is quite a pleasant surprise,” he admitted. “But Erestor -- you need to stop torturing yourself, and the only way you stand a chance of doing that and not feeling as if you need drugs or alcohol to make yourself feel better or dull the pain is to let someone close enough to tend to your wounds and help you heal -- and you have two someones who want to do that!” Gildor shook his head. “Alright. I said enough. Punch me again if you want to.”

“I think I passed the point in my life where I believe violence is a solution to anything.”

“I still want to punch Faelion,” announced Fingon.

“And it is looking ever so certain you will be the lucky winner of that opportunity,” said Gildor. “So… getting back to this journey into town that turned into a series of most unfortunate events... was that why Glorfindel and Faelion left? Because they thought you were using the drugs again?”

A rabbit ran across their path, and Erestor took a step back until he was sure the coast was clear. “I think they just needed an excuse, and I inadvertently provided it. Or rather, someone did.”

“Is there any idea what their intention was? Poisoning is… to be honest, it is chilling to hear that this happened,” said Gildor after he shivered slightly. “Did you ever catch the person who did this to you?”

Erestor shook his head. “No one witnessed it. We only know that whomever offered to buy me a drink that night first offered to take it to me himself, and then after he had the drink in his possession, gave it back to the bartender, telling him he was being called away and could the bartender please deliver it to me.” 

“So the bartender did see him,” said Gildor.

A negative gesture followed. “He was wearing a cloak with a hood and it was very dark, and the bartender was not expecting to have to look for suspicious things,” explained Erestor. “Beyond the sample that Cirdan took, and the examination from Elrond, there was very little to go on. And Faelion was already at work convincing everyone I had taken too much again, which was not difficult because I did it once before and ended up in a sorry state. While the symptoms were far different, Elrond was unable to rule that possibility out completely, and so I was judged guilty without a fair trial.”

“You said that they just needed an excuse, and Faelion was vocal on his thoughts as to what happened. Could it have been Faelion?” asked Gildor.

“He has a solid alibi,” spoke Fingon. “He was with Glorfindel. And I was at the house with them – the dog started barking just past midnight, and Faelion called out thrice for Erestor to let him out. I finally got up to tend to the dog – I mean, he is supposed to be my dog -- and that was when we realized Erestor was not home.”

“That would have made punching him so much more justifiable,” said Gildor. “There are no other clues? No one you made enemies with who might have done this for revenge?”

“Define enemies,” Erestor ruefully replied. 

Gildor and the others stopped as a couple emerged from an inn, oblivious to their surroundings, and cut over the path to another establishment across the street. They resumed, and Gildor said, “People who want to hurt you physically or attend your funeral with glee.”

“I miss the days when death was something the Eldar did not worry about here,” said Fingon.

This gave Erestor time to consider Gildor’s question, but to it he answered, “The trouble is, I have upset so many people in my long life, there are more than enough suspects to keep me guessing for decades. Security on the island is very lax; we have so many tourists coming and going at all times of year, except when the shores freeze and travel is unsafe. No one keeps records of passengers, and no one thinks twice about someone wearing a mask or a cloak because there are so many entertainers here. Regulations now would destroy Tol Eressëa’s economy. People come here to get away from everything happening in Valinor and to be free of some of the stricter rules there. There are no Valar here to impose their will, save the occasional visits from Irmo, and he himself has stated he is the least of them all.”

“I suppose too much time has passed as well,” said Gildor. “To try to recreate any part of it, or find witnesses, or examine the scene would be pointless. At least, with what Cirdan and Elrond did, they helped cast doubt on Faelion’s theory.”

“I considered going back and investigating,” said Fingon, “but let me tell you, Gildor, I have twice now been in the situation where I had to make very abrupt decisions about someone I am deeply in love with about their health and wellbeing and… life. Life or death decisions. I fucked up the first time. I was not going to let that happen again. We went right from the alley where we found him back to Alqualondë to see Elrond. I have no idea how it is that I manage to enlist the help of the Eagles when I so desperately need them, but we literally flew back. Cirdan was there, and I gave him five minutes of instructions about the dog and horses and other animals, and we left. Erestor and I. I still think that had bearing on the decision that Faelion and Glorfindel made.”

“Neither insisted upon coming along?” asked Gildor.

Fingon tightened his hold on Erestor. The words came slower now. “It was a living nightmare. Erestor was barely breathing, and he was so cold. I just remember being there beside him, on the ground, cradling him, weeping and praying and not giving a damn who heard what I said. I felt as if for me, it was grief, and for them, relief. They stood there watching, but they said little and when the Eagle came, they stepped out of the way.”

“They gave up on me,” said Erestor. “Not in that moment. In that moment they admitted it, but it had been like that for some time.”

“But it is different now,” said Fingon firmly. “We have Glorfindel back, and you are here with us, and that is what matters.”

“For what it is worth, I am happy to see all of you together,” said Gildor. “And, it would seem we have arrived at our destination!” 

The Dancing Pants was a longish building in the midst of many other small shops and open air stalls which would no doubt have vendors selling all sorts of produce and goods during the daytime hours. It seemingly had one door at the front, but once inside, the trio recognized that there was a second door near the powder room. There were two musicians at that exit, but no sign of Faelion. The counter was two-sided, and behind the long side was a shelf that looked much more like an apothecary than a bar, with dozens of small jars of multicolored liquids. A sign proudly proclaimed that they could custom mix over one thousand flavors of liquor, and more than a few patrons appeared willing to try to taste them all.

There was a doorway leading to another room, and the woman behind the counter called out to them and asked, "Are you here for a drink, or the show?"

Gildor flashed his brilliant smile and stepped up to the counter. "Good evening, my dear! We happen to be here to see an old friend. Faelion is his name; perhaps you know him? He said he would be performing here tonight, and we were so hoping to surprise him after his show!"

"Oh! In that case, please, a moment, and I will let you into the other room." 

Gildor looked at his companions, and both of them appeared impressed. When the woman came around from the bar, she had with her a key. "Sorry about this," she apologized as she unlocked something in the wall and pulled aside the barrier to the next room. "Faelion was worried about some acquaintances he has here on the island, so he asked we not allow them into the show. This room here is the other half of the tavern," she explained, and she led them in.

On this side, the other half of the bar wound around. There was also an exit near where they entered, and a set of double doors at the far end of the empty room. These had a sign above them about the performance that evening, and that Faelion was indeed the star of the show. "He will be out in a little less than an hour if you would be so good as to wait. I am sure he will be happy to see all of you," she added. “He was only concerned about those he knew here.” 

“That sounds quite scandalous,” said Gildor in a hushed voice. “Faelion hinted at something, but he never said explicitly what was going on. This is about those three he used to live with, I presume?”

It was just enough information to get the barmaid talking. She set a thatched mat down at the center of the wooden table she took them to and set a bowl of mixed nuts and dried fruit atop. “The owner was almost unable to get him to perform here. He is very particular about his visits to the island now. Of course, you know his uncle manages him,” she said, and as she looked around, it was with suspicious eyes now.

“Yes, Salgant and Duilin, though it is Duilin who is his songwriter and choreographer,” supplied Erestor. “Salgant is his uncle; we have known Faelion for some years,” he added, realizing he and Gildor could play the game of omission without giving themselves away. “My companion and I have not seen him since he moved back to the mainland,” he said as he motioned between Fingon and himself, and Fingon smiled and played the part well of devoted partner as he lifted a hand to rub the back of Erestor’s neck as he spoke. 

“We so hoped he brought the baby with him. Is his wife here with the child?” asked Gildor as he looked up and carefully made sure he was glancing into the other room in the direction of tables where he saw only men sitting, lest he inadvertently set his eyes upon a woman he had never met and gave away their intentions. 

“Oh, no, they stayed home. This was a series of shows for this weekend only. Tonight is the last, so he was particularly on edge,” explained the barmaid. “He was insistent upon returning -- the baby is just a baby, after all,” she said. “She is adorable,” she added.

“He,” corrected Gildor. “Tuilindon. Adorable all the same. At that age, who can tell them apart?”

The barmaid seemed appeased that they had passed this final test, and nodded before she continued. “These three he used to room with, they were quite the undesirables. Two of them especially - there is one with very long yellow hair, and one who is incredibly old - far older than any of us,” she assured them when Erestor furrowed his brow. “The two of them were right perverts from what he said,” she explained, her voice ever lower, and she fussed over the placement of items on the table when the other bartender looked over his shoulder to see what was taking her so long. “They engaged in numerous explicit and obscene things, and tried often to get poor Faelion to engage in such activities with them. Can you imagine? 

“Who would want to?” Fingon moved his hand to take hold of Erestor’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. 

“And the older one is an alcoholic addict,” she continued. “Faelion tried so many times to help reform him, but to no avail.”

Fingon licked his lips and avoided eye-contact with Erestor. “There was a third, though…? What was his problem?” he asked, perhaps in a voice harsher than he had expected to.

“He was - and probably still is - very aloof and vain. He has hair longer than any woman, and apparently he truly believes he is the best dancer who has ever lived and that he is blessed of the Valar because he talked to Nessa once or something. He has a very high opinion of himself.” She leaned in closer and motioned they should, too. All three leaned in to better hear her, Fingon most of all. “He is so narcissistic, he does not believe anyone would be as good a lover as he is, so he has stayed celibate and will not let anyone touch him.”

“Huh. Takes all kinds, I guess,” remarked Gildor. “So just why is Faelion worried about a couple of old perverts and a beautiful, egocentric ellon?” 

The barmaid stood up straight again, having run out of things to fiddle with on the table. “I guess they all blame him for something he did not do. He was not very forthcoming what exactly it was, but the poor thing! He just started sobbing, and it was so sad! I do hope they keep away from him -- he has had such a hard life! The rebirth, losing his memories, and then regaining them, and all of the trauma he went through at that house!” She shook her head. “Oh, but here, you must be thirsty! On the house, for friends of Faelion. What can I get for you? Red, white, ale?”

“Just water for me, thank you,” said Erestor softly.

“I will have a pint of ale,” said Fingon, and he looked across at Gildor.

“A small glass of red would be delightful,” he said. “Not too much, my dear, it is late. And the loo is…?”

The barmaid pointed in the direction of the room, and Gildor thanked her with a smile as he left the table. She lingered until Gildor was out of earshot, and then crouched down again. “Your friend – he wears no wedding band -- is he unmarried?”

Fingon and Erestor exchanged a glance. It was hard to tell if Gildor was being charming, flirty, or exactly what Gildor was up to. “He does not have a wife,” answered Erestor carefully.

“Hmm…” The barmaid headed back to retrieve their beverages. When she returned, she left the bottle of wine on the table, and checked once again with Erestor. “Are you certain there is nothing more I can get for you? We will have coffee and tea soon, for the late-comers who stumble in from the other pubs and need to sober up before they return home.”

Before Erestor could shake his head, Fingon intervened. “He takes his tea with honey.”

“Perfect. I will be back in a few minutes with that,” she said, and as Gildor returned, she stood to the side and gave him a slight curtsey. “After you, m’lord.”

“Oh, no, no, beauty before age,” he said as he moved aside.

The barmaid giggled and playfully tapped his shoulder on her way past. “Oh!” She spun around again and nearly knocked into Gildor, and they both laughed about it. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Did anyone want something to eat?”

Erestor shook his head, as did Fingon. “I think this will be fine,” said Gildor as he motioned at the bowl on the table. “We really do not wish to be trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” she said. “We still have stew from earlier, and anyhow, whatever is not eaten will just be thrown to the hogs at the end of the night. I will bring something warm for you, too.”

Gildor rejoined his companions as the lady walked off to complete her task. “How do you do that?” asked Fingon.

“Hmm? Do what?” Gildor relaxed and sipped the wine. “Mmm… good vintage. Anyone want a taste? She left the bottle.”

“Indeed - and she is feeding you now, too. It simply amazes me,” remarked Fingon. “You have known her for less than ten minutes, and she is waiting on you -- and free of charge, I might add.”

“Some of us are just born with built-in charisma,” said Gildor. “I can charm anyone.”

Fingon frowned, expression incredulous. “Not me.”

Gildor took another sip of wine. “I can charm anyone with a sex drive,” Gildor amended. Fingon looked moderately taken aback by the comment, but Gildor held up a hand. “Before anyone punches me for that comment,” he said, his eyes on Erestor, “I do not mean it as an insult. I mean only that you are immune to my abilities. As it should be. It makes for a great king. You and your brother are not so different in that regard. So do not take it as slander or impediment. I often consider just how many things I never accomplished due to overactive sexual needs.” 

Fingon looked at Erestor. “Do you find him charming?”

“Define charming,” answered Erestor. Fingon leaned over and whispered something into Erestor’s ear. Erestor blushed and picked up his glass of water. “Not that charming,” he said as the barmaid returned with tea, honey, a bowl of pickles, a small loaf of bread with a dollop of white butter glistening on the tray, and three bowls of venison stew. 

“Eat up!” she said cheerily as she placed the food on the table. It did not go unnoticed that she placed the fullest bowl nearest to Gildor before she left them alone once more.

“Do you find me that charming?” asked Fingon once the barmaid was gone again.

Erestor continued to blush as he poured a little honey into the tea. “I would let you do that thing you just said before,” he said, stumbling a bit over the words.

A smile curled Gildor’s lips. “I feel I should offer my services as surrogate should it be something of disinterest to you,” he said to Fingon, “for whatever it is certainly is making Erestor blush in the most comely manner.”

“I would tell you to stop, but I get the feeling you have trouble with the meaning of that word,” said Fingon.

“Guilty,” admitted Gildor. The sound of a door opening interrupted their conversation, and Gildor turned around, while Erestor and Fingon looked up. It was not Faelion, however, but a couple who must have decided the hour was late and to leave the venue early. Once they walked by, Gildor turned back to his co-conspirators. “So, how are we going to do this? Fingon and I hold him down, Erestor punches?”

“I am not going to punch him. I just want to talk to him,” said Erestor.

“Talk to him?” Gildor looked aghast. “Oh, no! Sweet Elbereth, not talking!”

Fingon shook his head and pushed the bowl nearest to Gildor closer to him. “That can actually be a punishment if Eres is doing the talking,” said Fingon.

“Oh, I know! The horror!” Gildor chuckled, then sobered and plunged his spoon into the stew. He stirred it a bit to cool it off before lifting a spoonful to his lips to blow across the still steaming mouthful. “Having been in council with you before, I can see that as a punishment. Especially at this late hour,” said Gildor before he tried the stew.

The door opened again, and once more, they all focused upon it, but it was only an usher, young enough that Maedhros would have fussed about him being there so late. He rushed past, a scarf in his hands, no doubt belonging to the pair who had previously exited. The trio settled again, and Gildor said, “We really do need a plan, though. If he sees us, he will bolt.”

“You said he has never seen you?” asked Fingon, and Gildor shook his head. “Does the restroom have a lock on the door?”

“Yes. There are two doors. The one for men is just a single room, and it does lock. What are you going to do, punch him and lock him into the loo?”

“Probably not, but I will consider the option.” Fingon had his hands folded with his elbows on the table. He turned his head to look at Erestor, who was still fiddling with the tea. “You should eat,” said Fingon, and he lowered a hand to nudge a bowl to Erestor, whose hands were shaking a little. “There are carrots and potatoes in it.”

Erestor peered down into the bowl. “They probably used deer stock in this.”

Without looking over or confirming an opinion, Fingon pulled the tray of bread between himself and Erestor. He sliced off a sizable chunk of bread, buttered it before setting it back on the tray, and then picked up Erestor’s bowl so that he could slide the tray before him. Fingon then split the stew in the now rejected third bowl between Gildor’s and his own.

Gildor watched with rapt fascination as the scene played out, and it ended with Erestor pulling the crust from the bread to nibble on that first while Fingon calmly returned to his plotting of the future situation. “I have never really seen anyone command Erestor to do anything with complete success. Well done.”

Erestor narrowed his eyes slightly at Gildor, but continued to pull tiny pieces from the slice of bread and eat them. Fingon, eyes on the door and not his companions, said quietly, “I did not command him. I merely suggested it.”

“You just told him to do something and he eventually did it. The eventually part might seem a disqualifier, but after everything this one has pulled in the years I have known him, you still receive full credit,” Gildor said.

The usher calmly came back through, and Gildor waved him over. “Excuse me, but my curious mind must know -- just how large is the theatre back there? This is my first time here, and from the road it does not appear all that big, but I know that Lord Faelion must be drawing quite an audience.”

“The theatre is not ‘back’ there, but ‘down’ there,” said the usher. “Those doors lead to the foyer and the stairway. The theatre is on the two lower levels.”

“Oh, of course! So there is a main stage, and a balcony, then,” guessed Gildor.

“And a place for the orchestra,” confirmed the usher. “However, we only needed to use the balcony the first night.” The boy bowed curtly and hurried back, for other duties awaited him, and the bartender was eyeing him up warily for dawdling, even if it was upon request of these supposed friends of Faelion.

Once alone again, Fingon cleared his throat, and upon gaining Gildor’s attention, said, “‘Should’ is not a command. It is advice.”

“Right - the word might be, but not the way you said it. And then you just shoved his argument aside by making it invalid.” Gildor set his spoon down in the bowl and slowly clapped. “I am in awe of your abilities, Fingon.”

Slowly, Fingon turned his head to look at Erestor, who had since put the remainder of the buttered bread back down. “Did I make you eat something?” he asked.

Erestor glanced at Gildor, then back to Fingon. “Well, I should eat,” he said. “I barely ate anything when we had supper.”

“Mostly dessert,” agreed Fingon. “And only then because Maedhros made the comment, asking if there was something wrong with yours as you had not touched it.” Erestor nodded.

“You recall that from dinner? I can barely recall what kind of soup they had,” announced Gildor.

Fingon waited to see if Gildor was to say more, but once there was sufficient pause, he reached for one of Erestor’s hands. “When you care as deeply about someone as I do, you notice these things.” He lifted Erestor’s hand and kissed each of his fingers, then his palm near the wrist, then put his arm around him best he could with them on their own chairs. “I would not make Erestor do something he does not want to do, unless for some reason his safety was at risk.”

Gildor scraped his spoon across the bottom of the bowl to capture the remaining gravy. Fingon noticed, and pushed the untouched bowl to Gildor. “You are not hungry?” Gildor asked.

“Neither of us eat mammals,” replied Fingon. “It always seemed too cannibalistic to me.”

“I knew Erestor was a vegetarian. That must drive Finde nuts -- not having meat in the house. No wonder he had such a huge steak at dinner tonight!”

Fingon cut another slice of bread and covered it in the remaining butter. “We make fish. I just make something else for Erestor when we do that. Poultry is off the menu, though,” said Fingon. 

“I will eat eggs,” said Erestor, while Fingon made a bit of a face and shook his head and added, “I try not to.”

“Ah, the fascinating dietary habits of the residents of the Cottage of Lost Play,” said Gildor. “Tell me more.”

“Help me think of a better plan than the one in my head, and we can discuss that topic all you like,” said Fingon. He had his arm back around Erestor again, who was alternating between pulling small chunks of bread off the slice for himself, and feeding bits of it to Fingon, who would nudge Erestor’s ear with his nose each time he was ready for another bite.

“Well, what is your plan currently?” 

Fingon pressed his lips together and stared back at the door. “Right now, the only part I have confirmed is someone punching Faelion.”

“Great plan. Can I watch?” asked Gildor.

“I was thinking you could do the punching,” said Fingon.

Music from the theatre had gone unnoticed by everyone to this point, but it now swelled and could be heard on their side of the door. “That sounds like a closing piece,” remarked Fingon as his left ear twitched slightly and looked to strain to better hear the composition.

“That is a closing piece,” mumbled Erestor. There were little more than crumbs in his hands, and he brushed these off onto the tray. “So much for a plan.”

Upon hearing the applause, Fingon abruptly stood up and tugged on Erestor’s arm. Erestor looked up with uncertainty as Fingon picked up their dishes and mugs and moved them to another table nearby. Gildor sipped his wine as he watched. “What are you doing?”

“Executing the plan.”

“What plan?” asked Gildor as Fingon coaxed Erestor to stand up and directed him to pick up the glass of water.

Fingon pushed the chairs in, and for all appearances, it seemed Gildor was eating alone and someone had just left from a nearby table. “The barmaid thinks you are his long-time friend. He has never seen you before, so you are going to pretend to be a huge fan of his who just missed the performance. Let us see if you can out-charm the charmer.”

“Oh…” Gildor nodded. “Challenge accepted. And you…?”

“We will return in good time,” said Fingon. “Just make sure you stall him.” The doors were opening to the theatre portion of the establishment, and he took hold of Erestor’s hand and pulled him along to the other side of the pub where the restrooms were. Fingon looked about, and when he was satisfied that no one was really watching them, he pushed Erestor gently into the room, and then followed behind, locking the door.

“Are we just going to hide un--” Erestor’s sentence was lost as he was spun around in the small space and pinned against the wall, Fingon’s mouth sealing over Erestor’s lips, tongue plunging in and easily winning the battle for dominance. 

When Fingon finally gave Erestor a moment to gasp for air, he growled as he nipped at Erestor’s neck. “Do you agree with Faelion’s assessment of me?”

Erestor closed his eyes and bit back a groan. “I love you as you are, Kano,” he said. “There is no reason for your prove something because of back alley gossip from Faelion or Gildor’s random analysis.” 

Fingon shifted back slightly. “I might be immune to just about everyone else, Eres, and far less interested in copulation than the average man, but there are times I do lust for you,” he said, and Erestor did not mute his groan this time. “Shh… there are people out there,” he whispered against Erestor’s throat.

“Yes, I kno--oh! Kano… I…” Erestor closed his eyes, head resting against the wall with a soft thud as Fingon lifted his leg and managed to rub his calf against the bulge in Erestor’s leggings. “Kano… I will be too loud…”

“Not if I do not command it,” came the whispered response. He kissed Erestor again, one hand on Erestor’s hip and the other in his hair, massaging his scalp. His leg was once more teasing its way between Erestor’s legs. 

It was a minute, perhaps two, before Erestor placed his hands upon Fingon’s shoulders and firmly separated them. After a few moments of shared deep breathing, Erestor touched his forehead to Fingon’s and said to him, “I would be a liar if I said I did not welcome whatever you are initiating, Kano, but not like this. Not because of his poison words, and not here. I do not want memories made in a cramped toilet room with a slightly sticky floor against a wall stained with lord knows what or who.” Both of Fingon’s hands were at Erestor’s waist now, and his gaze cast to the floor. He mumbled an apology, but Erestor would have none of it. “He is getting into our heads, and he is not even here. We do need to confront him. Inflicting bodily harm, though, will likely solve nothing.”

“It will feel damn good,” said Fingon. He sighed, smiled slightly, and kissed Erestor’s nose. “Thank you for being the voice of reason.”

“Thank you for providing such a thrilling intermission this evening. I would be more than delighted should you wish to continue when we return home, but I will be equally understanding if you choose not to,” said Erestor.

Fingon lifted one hand to rub at the mark that had appeared on the side of Erestor’s neck before he pushed the fabric of Erestor’s shirt away from his shoulder, exposing just a peek of smooth flesh. Fingon danced his fingertips over it, and said quite promisingly, “I hate to start anything I do not intend to finish.” He kissed the bare skin before he adjusted the fabric back in place again. “If we wait, though, we can have Fin with us. It seems incomplete without him.”

 

“We could do that,” said Erestor carefully. “We do have company this week.”

“True.” Fingon traced his fingers around the hem of Erestor’s garments. “Well. I promise to be a gentleman for the rest of the evening.”

“You have been,” Erestor assured him. He took the opportunity to collect one more kiss before he nodded to the door. “We should probably slip out quietly before someone notices we came in here together.”

Fingon nodded and left first, which gave Erestor a moment to adjust his clothing and run his fingers through his hair so that they emerged back into the tavern both presentable and unobserved by anyone.

Back at the table, Gildor swapped sides so that he would be able to see the door. He was at a disadvantage, for not knowing quite what Faelion looked like made it difficult to determine if he managed to slip past. It was most fortunate for him that an ellon exited with five young ladies swarming him and gushing at him about their favorite parts of the show, which they had all seen at least three times. Gildor kept his head down as he nursed his wine and listened to the discussion. It only took twenty seconds to realize it was a ballet, that Faelion did not do his own singing, and that he was, apparently, ‘dreamy’. Gildor would beg to differ -- he was barely a three by Gildor’s standards, and that was being generous. Gildor lifted an arm and called out cheerily, “Lord Faelion!” before the dancer could be swept away in the wave of maidens.

Perhaps it was the jewels Gildor wore, or the gold that glittered on his fingers and around his neck. Mayhaps it was the confidence in his voice and the friendly smile he offered. No matter what it was, it caused Faelion to direct his gaze in Gildor’s direction, and for Gildor to stand up and cross the distance with arm held out. “What pleasure! I thought not to have the chance to express my appreciation for your art before I left, but, lo! Here you are!”

Faelion took hold of the proffered arm and the ladies around him dispersed outdoors and to the other side of the tavern as he waved his free hand. “Here I am. And here you are, Lord…?”

Gildor bowed his head slightly. “You are too kind! I hardly expect to hear titles before my name. So fourth age! Alas, I have so many, even I can hardly keep track of them day to day. Please, call me only Inquáco, if you please.”

“Inquáco. What a unique name,” commented Faelion. 

“My mother is a very unique person,” said Gildor. “But enough of me! I am so happy that I came back this evening on the chance I might catch you! You see, I was here opening night, and with so many people attending, there was just no chance to catch you.”

“Opening nights tend to be like that,” replied Faelion. “How may I be of service?”

“It is more a matter of how I may be of service,” said Gildor. “You see, I happen to be a biographer -- not one you have heard of, of course. No, I write everything under pseudonyms. It leaves an air of mystery to the tales.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense,” said Faelion. “I mean, my uncle writes plays under his own name, but I suppose if you are writing about real people you might want a little more anonymity.”

“Exactly!” Gildor motioned to the table he had been sitting at, and soon he was facing Faelion, with Faelion sitting so that he would not immediately see Erestor and Fingon when they rejoined Gildor. “I think you know where I am going with this.”

“You want to write my biography?” 

“Goodness, no! I want to write the biography of the House of the Harp, and you are one of the most important parts,” gushed Gildor. “I have been to so many of your performances -- can you even guess how many?”

Faelion shrugged. “All of them?” 

“Such a good guess!” Gildor motioned to the usher, who was on his way out of the theatre, and called out to him, “A glass for my good friend, Lord Faelion!”

Faelion seemed quite intrigued by the thought of being written about, and at first began with all of the customary questions, such as how long such endeavors took, and who the audience would be, and whether he would benefit from the sales, should there be any.

“Such very good questions!” declared Gildor, and he continued to make up answers for as many questions as Faelion asked, and even as he took note of Fingon easing back into the room without a sound. “Now, of course, there will be time later to go over the contract and the terms, but first, I have for you questions of my own. Tell me, is there anything in your past you would not want included? Anyone who is off-limits, as it were?”

Faelion slowly shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

Gildor pulled his chair a bit closer to the table, and lowered his voice. “Nothing at all? These books can be very revealing. That is not to say I would look to make anyone appear unseemly, no, not at all, but I strive to tell the truth, and my readers appreciate that. So I must ask again, before I embark upon my research, is there anything at all that gives you pause? While I believe in the truth with the deepest of convictions, I know that sometimes, we must omit.” He leaned in closer. “Is there anything I should omit?”

Wine was sipped and Faelion rubbed his chin. When he did not respond, Gildor said, “Perhaps I should put it this way -- I intend to speak to everyone and find out everything. Is there anyone who is going to tell me something you do not want known? Because once I get started--”

“When it comes to the Cottage of Lost Play, I will be your informant for that,” said Faelion. “I want to be sure that everything is in order the way it should be.”

“Oh?” Gildor leaned back. Under the table, he motioned with one finger, unseen to Faelion, and beckoned Fingon to come closer. Gildor spoke softer now, but in such a manner as to cover any sound that might have been caused by Fingon’s approach. “Why is that?”

“I was deceived. False memories were offered to me, and I was so ready to accept the slightest hints of my past that I believed everything I was told. Not only were those at the cottage deceptive, but they managed to drag one of the Valar into their dastardly plans.” Faelion drank more of the wine before he continued. “I was fortunate enough to learn of the Narmassa Sámanvinyasambë, and there they helped me to understand who I really am and the harm that was done to me. I was really very hopeful that I would be able to help Glorfindel, but she was already too affected by the others. She just ran off one day. I fear she is… beyond repair due to the trauma they caused.”

Gildor blinked twice. The fingers of the hand that could still be seen by Faelion twitched.

“Is something the matter, Inquáco?” asked Faelion. Behind him, Erestor had been following behind Fingon, but he faltered upon the naming of the Wolfden Healing House, and Fingon managed to quickly backtrack without a sound. Presently, Fingon had one arm around Erestor’s waist and his other hand under Erestor’s elbow. Erestor was trembling, a hand over his mouth, and Gildor simply plastered a smile on his face.

“Nothing at all. So, what should I say about those you knew at… where did you say it was again?” asked Gildor. “The Lost Place?”

“The Cottage of Lost Play.” Faelion set down his glass and rubbed his hands together in thought. “I think it safe to say that Glorfindel is delusional. I have at least one healer who would be willing to share his assessment of the situation. As for the others… do you think your readers will have a great interest in their lives? I mean, they will of course be reading to know more about me,” insisted Faelion. “However, if you think you can… sell more copies, or ask a greater price, well, then there are things about a certain High King of old that they may find relevant.”

“Such as?” asked Gildor, and he hoped his voice did not give him away.

Now Faelion leaned closer, so close that Gildor could smell the wine on his breath. “Let us just say that he has a most unusual mindset when it comes to personal perception.”

Behind him, Fingon’s eyes filled with rage, though he also concentrated on Erestor’s current state. He was still, but everything in his expression told Gildor it was taking every bit of his resolve not to lunge forward and kick Faelion out of his chair and knock him flat on his ass. There was a moment when a fly landed on the table and distracted Faelion, and his waved it away. In that moment, Gildor made eye-contact with Fingon, and Fingon breathed in slow and even, and simply gave a silent nod.

“Can you give me any particulars? Adjectives are dime a dozen, Lord Faelion, and your explanation is most vague! Anecdotes, however, are worth their weight in gold.” Gildor reached for the wine to refill Faelion’s glass, but thankfully he found the bottle empty, for his own hands had a slight tremor to them. He folded them in his lap, and as Faelion started to speak, Fingon began his approach, with Erestor beside him, and it was hard to tell now who was supporting who.

“Well, you see, there was a time when he--”

“And by he, you mean…?”

“Findekáno Astaldo. Sixth High King of the Noldor. Kinslayer.” Faelion emptied his glass, head tilted back, and for a moment, Gildor held his breath. But Faelion had his eyes closed, and did not notice they were not alone, and so he continued to loosen his tongue. “You must know that he was once an elite athlete.”

“Every child in Valinor knows that. There is not a history primer that neglects that fact,” replied Gildor. Already, Fingon was bristling, and almost looked as if he was going to stop the conversation, but he waited instead to see exactly what Faelion intended to reveal.

“It is the reason why that is so peculiar,” said Faelion. “He did not start as young as most who follow the path. In fact, until he was about fourteen I believe, he still intended to be a cook like his father was at the time. Family business and all. When he attended a competition, he was in awe of the way they were all able to train their bodies, and how they were the most androgynous in appearance of all the Eldar.”

Gildor rubbed his chin. “While I agree with that assessment, I do not see the connection. Perhaps he was just interested in the beauty of the competition. Of all athletics, gymnastics is the most popular.”

Faelion shook his head. “No, there is more! After the competition, he went with his family to a nearby inn to eat, and while there he observed a group from one of the teams, and he heard them talking. Despite being beyond their majorities, they were not particularly tall and their voices had not changed. Even at that age, he thought he needed to be like that. Sad, really, especially when one looks at the rest of the family. He stood a good chance to be as tall as his brothers, and all of them have such commanding voices. He gave that up for a childish whim.”

With fingers steepled, Gildor frowned. “Supposition is not what my readers want. There is no way to prove Findekáno’s voice would have become much lower or that he would have gained height, or that the gymnastics had any bearing on that,” he said, though he could see from the look on Fingon’s face that there was at least hope that his many years of training stunted manhood in some way.

But Faelion was not done. “He told me many stories, but the earliest and most disturbing was when he was only a few years old. His brother had just been born, and his mother had been hoping for a girl. Findekáno himself was already suffering from personality abnormalities, from what he told me and what I know of the art of healing. I am well-versed as a healer of the mind,” he added. “That should definitely be in the book.”

“Noted,” said Gildor. “Sorry, I think I missed the point of your story.”

“Ah.” Faelion frowned and looked down. “Oh! Yes,” he said as he suddenly looked up. “Sorry. The wine is quite potent here,” he said, and Gildor smiled as if to affirm this. “So, Findekáno listened to his mother saying she had hoped to have a girl, but she loved him and his brother, and some will of the Valar stuff. Anyhow, he -- Findekáno -- had this strange thought in his head that he would have been better as a girl than a boy. So he tried, not once, but twice, to remove… you know…” Faelion pointed down at his lap, and Gildor raised a brow. “His penis,” hissed Faelion.

Behind him, Fingon and Erestor were mere paces away. Erestor looked sympathetically at Fingon and squeezed his hand. Fingon’s eyes were narrowed to barely visible slits, and he mouthed ‘you fucker’ at the back of Faelion’s head.

“That seems a bit farfetched,” said Gildor. “My readers will think I made that up.”

“It is true, though! The first time he tried it, he told me he had read something about amputations of the legs of animals, so he just tied rope around it and his father just found him sitting in his room waiting for it to fall off. His parents did not ask him at that point what he was doing, so he tried a week later with a knife. That time, he passed out after he made the first cut, woke up with blood all over, passed out again, and woke up in bed. After that, his parents--”

“Enough,” snarled Fingon.

Faelion, startled, looked over his shoulder. The voice was familiar, but the image was not until he saw Erestor as well. “What is all this?” He looked back at Gildor. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Gildor Inglorion, at your service.” Gildor looked up at Fingon. “Did you still want me to punch him, or did you want to slap him into next week?”

“Punch him? I want to kill him,” answered Fingon, and Erestor gripped Fingon’s shoulder. “He is not worth it. Besides… you would make a fool of us all, and indeed you have to some. It is only right we return the favor,” said Fingon. He closed the distance and stopped behind Faelion, and placed his hands on the younger elf’s shoulders. He then bent over so that he could speak very softly, for now there were some on the other side of the tavern whose attention was drawn to their side. “Before you leave, you will be the laughingstock of Tol Eressea.”

Faelion snorted. “Just how do you intend to pull that off?”

“I have no idea. But in the short time that I have been acquainted with him, I have come to know that Gildor probably already figured out every detail. As for my part, I intend to make it look as if we were all sitting here, and you interrupted us,” said Fingon. “And then, I intend to put you out of my mind. I respected you. I trusted you. I loved you. And I will forgive you, but I will never, ever forget what you said here, and what you were about to do.”

“Technically, he thought I was a real biographer, so he did do what he was going to do,” Gildor reminded everyone.

“Findekáno, there is hope for you,” said Faelion. “I know a place where they can help you. I see you cut your hair and stopped wearing that ridiculous eyeliner. That is a good start to accepting your true self. You should come back to the mainland with me. They can cure you, like they did for me.”

“No,” said Erestor firmly. “You only think they helped you because they made you think there is something wrong to begin with!” Erestor had his arms tightly around himself, nails digging into his own shoulders, as if clinging to his own sanity. “They are wrong, Faelion, so wrong. They make you think there is some sort of perfect normal you need to adhere to, and they destroy you in the process.”

“That is because you refused to accept that you were wrong. That all of us are imperfect and wrong about things, and we need guidance,” insisted Faelion. “Until you can see that, Erestor, there is no hope for you. At least with Findekáno he knows what he is doing is wrong, he just needs--”

“I need you to shut the fuck up.” Fingon stood up and stepped back from Faelion. “You are right about one thing, Faelion. There is hope for me. I see it every morning when I wake up and look into Erestor’s eyes. Every moment I hear Glorfindel laugh at one of my terrible jokes. Every time one of them takes hold of my hand or kisses my lips. So, yes, there is hope for me.”

Faelion made another disgruntled noise. “Then you are just as lost as they are.”

Erestor timidly reached out to touch Faelion’s shoulder. When he was not pushed away, he said, “I know what you went through. I know how easy it is to think that what they do at Narmassa will fix everything in your life. The truth is, it will only make it that much worse later on.”

“My life is wonderful right now,” answered Faelion back, and his answer sounded completely rehearsed. “I have a lovely wife and a beautiful child. My career is excellent and enjoyable. I have never been happier. It is you who is living in a fantasy.”

Gildor rolled his eyes. “You do know that you deserve to have your face slapped off, right? I would punch you myself, but I just had a manicure before I arrived, and the lady I go to does such excellent work. Shame to ruin it. Besides, punching you might be an improvement.”

It seemed that Faelion had almost forgotten Gildor, and he gave him a bored look. “Are you quite done?”

Gildor looked Faelion over and after a long pause said, “Yes. I have wasted enough of my life on you.” He dismissively waved his hand.

Faelion reached up to shove Erestor’s hand away and glared at Fingon. “None of you are welcome at my future performances.”

Gildor was now quite calm, with his hands folded atop the table. “What luck. None of us have intention of ever seeing you again if we can help it.”

Faelion shoved back in his chair once Erestor and Fingon backed away and attempted to stand. He wobbled and grabbed for the table, an odd look on his face, as he suddenly twisted to the side and knocked over another chair on his way down to kiss the floor.

“Oh. Pardon.” Gildor shifted slightly and lifted his feet up and off of the laces of Faelion’s boots. Loudly, he said, “Dear me! Are you quite alright, my friend?”

“You bastard!” Faelion took hold of the table and hoisted himself up, but the next moment he was on the floor again, for not only had Gildor been stepping on the laces, he had also tied them together at some point during the argumentative discussion. The knot was not tight, so now it came undone as Faelion growled and crawled back up to his feet. By now, those on the other side of the bar were watching the scene. Erestor and Fingon, as planned, were sitting at the table where their empty dishes had previously been placed, and it looked as if Gildor was concerned for his friend, who shouted at him, “Curse you! Curse you all!”

Gildor blinked and placed a hand to his mouth. Faelion growled again before he stomped out (stumbling once more with the untied boots loose on his feet, and only after he shouted at the barmaid ‘Move, wench!’ when she hurried over to see what the fuss was about.) The barmaid was so shocked that she missed Fingon’s quick retrieval of the dishes and relocation of them to their original table. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked with great concern.

“I should ask you the same,” said Gildor. “You poor thing! Here; sit.” He stood swiftly and pulled out a chair. “No one should be subjected to such language, least of all a lady!”

“Oh, you are so very kind,” she said as Gildor produced a paper fan from some unknown place and fluttered it in her direction. “What happened?”

Gildor shook his head sadly. “You know how tough it can be for performers. Sometimes they just snap -- it does seem he has gone quite mad.”

“You poor dears! I know what will make things better -- Narvien just finished baking a pie. I am going to fetch each of you a slice,” she said. She gave Gildor a pat on the shoulder before she left.

Gildor looked quite pleased with himself once they were left alone again. “I just earned pie for us,” he remarked. The fan was already tucked away with as much mystery as whence it came. “I wonder if they have cream for the top…”

There was no cream, but as it turned out, Narvien had see the tail end of the encounter. Upon deciding that everyone was pretty shaken up, half of a pie was wrapped and placed into a basket for them to take home. Gildor carried the basket and chattered away during the walk back while Fingon and Erestor quietly kept pace. During the return trip, Gildor was mindful of his stories, and avoided anything that put Erestor in a negative light. He even spoke fondly of a time when he forgot a large snake in Rivendell, and how Erestor adopted her and cared for her even into old age when he had to hunt for freshly killed mice left in the barn by cats with which to feed the snake so that she did not go hungry when she became too worn to hunt on her own. “He even had a funeral for her,” recalled Gildor.

“I buried her where I found her, under the seating area in the arena in Imladris,” said Erestor, and it was the most words he had said since they set off for the cottage. “We used her basket and Elrohir carved a nice headstone. Whenever I raced after that, I would put the flowers thrown to me at her grave at the end of the race.”

Gildor had time enough to share two more tales before they arrived at the walkway that led to the cottage. There was a warm glow from the fireplace and candles, and they all paused as if trying to decide collectively what to tell Maedhros and Glorfindel when they entered. “What if I just say we went to a pub, and then tomorrow we can all discuss it further. Or, the three of you can discuss it if needed. I honestly doubt Maedhros is going to care. I care,” he added quickly.

“I think you proved that tonight. I never thanked you for everything,” said Fingon. “I never expected him to say such things to a stranger. That really hurt, and I appreciate that we have some answers now.”

“Part of the reason you have answers may well be due to what I slipped into his wine,” admitted Gildor. “That being said, it was just something to take the edge off in case he was suspicious of me and to get him to speak freely. I have no doubt he would have shared that information; he just did it faster than he otherwise would have, and time was not on our side tonight.”

“Normally, I would be very much against such techniques,” said Erestor. “But… we needed some answers.” Fingon nodded.

“We should go in, or they will come out here, and then I think we will need to explain it all tonight,” said Gildor. He lifted the basket. “Time to offer distraction in the form of pie.” Gildor entered the house, and Fingon looked about to follow until Erestor pulled him by the arm back onto the porch.

“We need to talk about something before we go in there,” said Erestor. He placed his hands on Fingon’s shoulders, while Fingon’s arms almost instinctively encircled Erestor’s waist. “I love you very much, and what almost happened tonight would have been very pleasing to me. However, if you ever do something like that again because you want to prove a point to someone who will never know the outcome, you might be the one who ends up punched in the nose.”

“Yes, sir.” Fingon snogged Erestor and then nuzzled his shoulder apologetically. “That was, honestly, not one of my finer moments. I mean, you were indeed arousing me, but… that was not gracefully handled on my end.”

Erestor traced his fingers over Fingon’s lips. “Well. I will allow you to make it up to me in the future. I distinctly recall a night where I said something about crossing a line and not crossing a line, and at this point in our relationship I am so far past that line I do not think I could ever go back. Perhaps we could spend an evening together out by the hot spring or in the hammock or something.”

“I think that can be arranged. We should get some towels, and maybe a blanket or two before we go to the back,” suggested Fingon.

Erestor smiled but shook his head. “I did not mean tonight. We have company.”

“Glorfindel has company,” corrected Fingon. “We have unfinished business.” He kissed Erestor’s nose and walked into house. Erestor stood alone on the porch a moment before he followed Fingon in, just in time to watch him walk directly to Glorfindel. Fingon leaned down and whispered something to him. Glorfindel looks a little surprised, but nodded and then smiled. Fingon looked around the room and said, “Erestor and I are going to excuse ourselves to the hot spring so that the three of you have time to catch up.”

“There are fresh towels in the next room on the table,” said Glorfindel. “I forgot that I had them hanging out earlier today, so we took them down when we got home. I have not folded them yet.”

“No need for folding,” said Erestor, and he retrieved three of them before he headed back outside.

“I am going to turn in for the night,” said Maedhros. “I think the long walks tired me out.” His prosthetic had already been abandoned on the side table Fingon used to organize his mail, so Maedhros waved an arm goodnight to everyone, kissed Gildor, and retreated up the stairs.

Gildor waited until Maedhros was upstairs before he spoke again. “So… you two going to finish what you started in that dilapidated toilet room back at the pub while Glorfindel and I trade recipes and talk about the weather?”

Fingon looked mortified. “What are you--”

“Sweetie, you are not the first person to try the two-in-a-loo quickie,” Gildor told him. “You were not gone long enough for anything significant to happen, and honestly, with how pissed-up that room smelled, I have no idea how you managed anything without getting sick. Gildor looked to Glorfindel. “It was bad. It was so sticky I could hear my sole peeling off the floor. I was able to talk the barmaid into letting me use the staff bathroom. You remember Bree, right?” Glorfindel nodded at Gildor. “It was worse than Bree.”

Fingon crossed his arms over his chest. “You could have mentioned it was disgusting. Because it really was disgusting.”

“And take away the joy of letting you find out?” Gildor smirked. “Anyhow, the two of you were in there long enough, so it could not have been that terrible.”

“I would almost find it funny if the memories of the stains on the walls were not etched in my mind,” said Fingon.

 

“I must imagine Erestor is still awaiting your return out on the porch, so why not head out and make some new stain-filled memories.” Gildor looked proudly at Glorfindel. “Do you see what I did?”

 

“I am not sure I am supposed to congratulate you with the way Fingon is looking at me,” said Glorfindel.

“Not unless you want to sleep on the couch tonight,” confirmed Fingon. He said his goodnights, and went out to the porch, though no one was there. He continued back to the hot spring, and initially it appeared that Erestor was not there either, but then he noticed the slight sway of the hammock.

“May I join you?” he asked once he was close enough to peer down at his lover.

Erestor had the towels set on the hammock for pillows, and he patted part of the canvas next to him. Fingon settled in as Erestor explained, “It is nearing daybreak, so I thought we could just watch the stars fade and then turn in.”

“Stargazing with you is an opportunity I would never miss.” Fingon managed enough momentum to get the hammock swinging slightly before he spoke again. “Tonight was…” He placed a hand atop Erestor’s and moved his fingers over it in a circular motion. “I think I am still in shock.”

“That was not Faelion.” Erestor closed his eyes and sighed, and there was a deeply pained look on his face. “He never would have said anything like that. It had to be the Narmassa. I keep trying to decide whether or not to ask Glorfindel about it. I just hope Faelion did not take Fin there as well.”

“I need you to explain that to me. I wanted to asked earlier,” said Fingon, “but I could see if upset you.”

“Narmassa Sámanvinyasambë is a place I wish never existed.” Erestor turned so that he was on his right side, and Fingon rolled onto his left. Fingon put his hand up and Erestor threaded his fingers together with Fingon’s. “That was where my parents took me when I told them I wanted to try to change myself.”

“The torture clinic,” said Fingon.

“They think what they are doing is right. They think they are seeing to the will of Eru. They make their clients believe it as well.”

Fingon kissed Erestor’s nose. “I think if Faelion took Glorfindel there, Glorfindel would have said something about that by now. I have a feeling Glorfindel does not know that Faelion went there.”

“I hope you are right.”

Fingon drew Erestor’s hand closer and rubbed his cheek against their entwined fingers. “If you feel you want to talk about--” Fingon shut his mouth when Erestor turned his head to the sky. “If you decide to in the future, I just want you to know that there is never a wrong time for it. You know I immerse myself in my endeavors, but I will always make time for you in an instant.”

“I know.” Erestor looked back and sighed. “There are a lot of things I want to tell you. I just need time to sort them out in my own head first.”

“That sounds fair.” Fingon kissed Erestor’s wrist and said, “I want you to know, I never meant to withhold anything from you. All of those things that I told Faelion were in confidence and for his assignments when he was studying to become a full-fledged healer. I never thought he was going to reveal any of it, especially not like that. I think I would have told you some if not all of it, but there is hardly a good time to begin a conversation with ‘so this one time I thought if I cut off my penis I would turn into a girl, but then I almost bled out because I nicked an artery in my leg’.”

Erestor shifted so that he could brush his fingers through the short, thick hair on top of Fingon’s head. “It must have been hard for you.”

“I eventually figured out that while I was not happy as a boy, I really did not want to be a girl, either.” He sighed and squeezed Erestor’s hand. “You poor thing. You ended up with all of Eru’s misfits.”

Erestor shook his head immediately. “No, Kano. I have been blessed with his masterpieces.”

The sun was just teasing the sky when they came back to the house. No one was in the great room, so the pair went upstairs, where they found Glorfindel turning down the bed. “I was going to come and get you in a moment. I did not want to interrupt anything, but I also thought it looked like rain and did not want you to be caught off-guard if you had fallen asleep.”

“We were only talking,” said Fingon. He stripped off his clothing, then shut the door as an afterthought. “I am not used to having guests,” he mumbled as he searched through a drawer for a pair of sleeping pants. “Just in case,” he said as he noticed Glorfindel’s smirk.

Erestor was already settled in, blankets drawn up to nearly cover his head. Glorfindel appeared concerned as he crawled into his side of the bed. “Gildor told me a whole lot of nothing for the amount of time the three of you were gone,” said Glorfindel once all three were tucked in.

“Tell you about it tomorrow if we have a chance,” offered Fingon as he put out the candles.

\----

Erestor sat with Gildor at the same table they had been at with the others the night before. They were having tea and biscuits while the others shopped the market. Gildor picked up a biscuit with a pink and white checkerboard pattern and dunked it into the pot of raspberry jam. “I am still not sure if it was a good idea to let Maitimo and Fingon off on their own.”

“Glorfindel is with them,” Erestor reminded him as a lady walking around the tables handing out flyers caught his eye.

“I wonder what sorts of entertainment we will be able to choose from this evening,” he said as he motioned that the lady should come to their table.

Almost immediately she was there, and holding out a freshly printed page with green ink on the cheap brownish paper. “I think you will find this to be of interest,” she said, but she kept her eyes on Erestor as she handed the sheet to Gildor.

Erestor watched the woman retreat from their table before he reached for one of the lemon biscuits on the tray. “Anything of… interest…” 

“I think you will find this very interesting,” said Gildor.

But it was not Gildor.

Erestor held the biscuit aloft, and stared into Faelion’s eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I am here to help you, Erestor.” Faelion slowly turned the paper around. Now Erestor saw what was printed at the center of a delicate green border.

Narmassa Sámanvinyasambë

Erestor dropped the biscuit and scrambled to move away from the table, but something held him in place. There was a healer at either side of him, their white robes blinding when he tried to look at their faces. They held his arms against the arms of the chair while Faelion set the paper down on the top of the table. “You need to finish your treatment, Erestor. Everything was going so well before you left. It is so far away, though, you see, and so we thought it would be in your best interest if we found a way to bring the Namassa to you. Here, on Tol Eressea.” Faelion stepped around the table so that he could approach the chair, which was no longer the stylish copper one that matched the others on the patio of the inn, but a white leather padded one from the clinic, with straps on the arms and legs to hold the occupant in place. Faelion busied himself with securing these at Erestor’s wrists and near his elbows as he continued with, “Right here. Just for you. And we found a healer to tend to you personally. Someone you are familiar with. Someone I am sure you missed.”

Unable to move from fear and restraint, Erestor looked back across the table, though the table was no longer there. In its place was a metal cart, and he looked up from it. He knew what he would see there, and he could hear the racing of his heart thrumming in his ears. 

That was when he saw him.

Staring with his black eyes.

Annatar.

“Oh, now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Annatar clicked his tongue and shook his head as Erestor growled again and now fought in vain against the restraints. When Erestor called out for Gildor, then for anyone to help him, Annatar growled back. “We cannot have that, can we, now?” He snapped his fingers, and in an instant Faelion was there once again, this time with a muzzle-like contraption that Erestor immediately recognized. Now Erestor was belligerent, and even bit at Faelion, but between the unknown helpers and his assailant, it was soon buckled behind Erestor’s head, effectively muting him. “Much better,” purred Annatar as he reached out to stroke Erestor’s cheek. “We are going to have such--” Annatar slowly looked down, and Erestor shut his eyes and shook in fear and fury. “Well. That is a most unfortunate development,” said Annatar as he watched a golden stream trail down the front of the chair and pool on the ground. “You know the rules here. You must be punished for that. Ah, I know… I will let Faelion decide!”

Faelion stepped forward with a rather rusty looking pair of branch trimmers. “With pleasure,” he said as he crouched down at Erestor’s right side and looked up at him. “I think the trouble in the past was making everything so temporary. You need a little physical reminder,” he said as he unfurled the fingers of Erestor’s fisted hand. “Let me see… ah, I know just the thing,” he said as he managed to get hold of Erestor’s index finger. He looked up pointedly. “Not going to need this one,” he said as he positioned it between the blades of the trimmer.

Erestor was unable to withdraw his hand or move his arm, but his legs were still free, and so just as Faelion appeared ready to use the tool to slide through skin and bone, Erestor kicked both legs to the right and into Faelion’s chest. He stumbled back, and Erestor kicked out again and again until he felt hands on his shoulders and someone calling his name, and Annatar and Faelion fell back into the shadows, and the chair disappeared, and Erestor fell to the ground, weeping and alone.

\----

“Eresse. Sweetheart. Eres.” Fingon continued to shake Erestor’s shoulders gently until there was a little sniffle and blinking and a cough. Only then did he pull Erestor to him, for Glorfindel had tried first and been kicked several times. Fingon and Glorfindel were awoken mid-morning by the dark uneasy mumbling of their companion and the damp sheets, and only now did they begin to relax, for it had been more than just a few minutes that Erestor had been in an unreachable state.

Gildor was there, too, for at one point Erestor was calling for him, almost shrieking his name, and Gildor stood at the door and called out that he was there, but with it closed he did not know whether or not to enter until Maedhros joined him and opened the door without knocking. The pair at the door now edged further into the room. “How can we help?” asked Gildor as Fingon eased Erestor, who was still shaking and sobbing, into a seated position on the bed.

Glorfindel pointed to a cedar chest. “Can you find sheets for me in there? It does not matter if they match,” he added as he started to pull the bedding off and heap it in the corner. Gildor nodded and went to complete this task while Maedhros stood silent, ready for orders. “Uhm… and, maybe if you could bring up some water?” Maedhros nodded once and left the room.

“We will be right back,” said Fingon as he helped Erestor to his feet and took him to the washroom.

“Do you need me to help you flip the mattress over?” asked Gildor once he had procured both sheets and a fresh quilt.

Glorfindel shook his head and rolled a torn blanket off the bed. “This has happened often enough that Fingon came up with the idea of putting old blankets between the mattress and the sheet. The blanket that was on the end of the bed did not get wet, so we can spread that out just in case, though so far when this happens it only happens once in a night.” 

Gildor aided in remaking the bed. As they were tucking the sheet around the mattress, he looked across the bed and said, “I had no idea it was this bad. I would have encouraged him to get help sooner if I had known.”

When the bed was made, Glorfindel sat on the edge, and Gildor joined him. “I think sometimes that I am to blame for how it progressed,” said Glorfindel as Maedhros returned. 

To this, Gildor shook his head. “He was tortured, Glorfindel,” said Gildor, and this comment gained Maedhros’ attention as well. “Once by the enemy, and once by our own kind in the name of Eru. This is not your fault. Ultimately, Erestor is the one who has to ask for help. You can offer, you can ignore -- none of that matters if he is unwilling to let you in. I gave him a bit of a shove about it all last night. If anything, that may have been what set things off. If so, I am sorry for what happened just now, but if it causes him to reach out, then I am not sorry.”

The shuffling sound of Fingon and Erestor returning quieted those in the room, and Glorfindel now tended to getting a glass of water for Erestor, while Gildor fluffed pillows and Maedhros stood again off to the side. Erestor was no longer wearing his nightclothes, but instead had a towel around his waist. Fingon retrieved a fresh pair of sleeping pants and handed these to Erestor, who mumbled apologies about waking the household. 

“Not to worry,” said Gildor. “I was just about to get up anyhow.” Maedhros agreed to this, whether it was true or not.

Fingon retrieved clean clothing for himself as well and set a hand briefly on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I will be right back,” he said as he exited the room again.

“We should probably go do that thing we were going to do when we got up,” said Gildor, and he pointed to the doorway in case there was question of which way they should head.

Maedhros nodded, but did not move yet. “I would like to speak to Erestor alone, please.”

Gildor and Glorfindel exchanged a look, and then Glorfindel glanced to Erestor. He was still holding the pants with a solemn expression and tired, reddened eyes, but he nodded, and so Glorfindel and Gildor slipped out of the room and closed the door.

Maedhros stayed where he was, and rubbed his chin. “I try to stay out of the affairs of others,” he began, “but what I heard tonight, and what I saw, reminded me of someone.”

“You,” guessed Erestor, and Maedhros nodded in reply.

“No one lives through what we did and manages an easy happily ever after. We carry scars that never fade, even if we are the only ones who see them.” He closed his eyes, perhaps in consideration of his next bit of advice. When he opened them, he said, “I never gave anyone the chance to help me. I sought the easy ending. I begged for death when he was so desperate to save me. When I finally had the chance to end it, I never thought twice. Maybe things would have been different for me if I had given him a chance instead.” Maedhros moved closer to the door and added, “He really loves you, Erestor. He would die for you if he had to. I know because I see it when he looks at you. He used to look at me that way.”

As if on cue, there came a sharp knock at the door, and Maedhros opened it to find Fingon on the other side. Fingon gave Maedhros a quizzical look, but then noticed Erestor wiping his nose and eyes with the back of his hand, and immediately crossed the room to comfort him. Maedhros left without another word. “Shhh… it will be alright. See, Glorfindel and Gildor made the bed again, and Fin said he is going to make breakfast and come get us once it is ready.” Fingon drew Erestor into his arms and rubbed his back while Erestor cried softly. “No one cares, neither of them are going to tell anyone -- we all have nightmares -- Irmo really needs to stop taking nights off, in my opinion.”

Erestor sniffled and snuffed and cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. He licked his lips as he loosened his grip slightly, but as soon as he saw Fingon’s eyes, he was again shaking his head and on the verge of tears. “But I did it again,” he whispered with shame. 

“Oh, Eres, my darling.” Fingon embraced Erestor again and nuzzled his cheek with his own. “Come. Lie down with me, and I will tell you a tale of an elfling who froze up at a gymnastics meet and made water right in the middle of the arena, and still they eventually crowned him king for some silly reason.”

“Being an elfling is different than being a grown man,” Erestor half-heartedly argued, but he did not fight being led to the bed, or the fact that Fingon removed the towel and tossed it and the clean sleeping pants aside, and shed his own before they crawled into bed together.

Fingon situated himself near the middle of the bed, with Erestor closer to the window. On his back, Fingon coaxed Erestor to snuggle next to him, so that Erestor’s head rested on Fingon’s shoulder and his right leg was sloppily over Fingon’s, while Fingon played with Erestor’s hair. “Once upon a time, I had my very first set of meets. They went really well. Because I was not in the sport as long as others, I was quite fearless about things. I was more likely to try an extra twist or jump higher or release with more power so that I sailed further through the air than others did. Consequently, I was moved from junior competition to senior competition very quickly. I excelled there as well, and it was not long before I was admitted to an elite gym.”

“Is it true that no one stays at the same gym their entire career?” asked Erestor.

“Let me think… sometimes someone did, but it was rare. I was at eight or nine different ones, and the longest was less than fifteen years. Plus I spent a few years independent after an injury,” he added. “The first gym I was admitted to was very strict and secretive. We practiced without an audience -- no parents, no other students. During the junior and senior practices, parents were allowed to attend, and juniors watched seniors and vice versa. No one else really came to those meets except parents and siblings and neighbors, so it was all people I had seen before.”

“I saw you a few times,” recalled Erestor sleepily. “You were always really good with the acrobatic part. The part where you do all of the flips and jumps.”

“Floor exercises. That was my best event,” said Fingon fondly. “There is even a combination of moves that is named after me.”

“So there are little up and coming gymnasts who get to learn the Fingon?” asked Erestor. His eyes were closed now, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips, and Fingon smiled back.

“No, actually, they call it the Astaldo, so some people do not realize why it gets called that, but that was a thing I came up with. I will show it to you some time,” promised Fingon, and Erestor sleepily nodded his head against Fingon’s chest. “But back to me peeing all over the floor in the arena. So there we were, entering the stadium for the first time, and I had my team uniform on, and it was brand new and I looked fantastic even if a bit short compared to the competition, and we all walked out in a single file because that was what we did.”

“Then what happened?” asked Erestor, though the words were slurred together.

Fingon kissed Erestor’s forehead. “Then the crowd cheered, and I looked up, and I saw everyone. At least to me, it looked like literally every damned person in Valinor was sitting in the stands looking down at me. So I did what every other twenty-two year old in my position would do. I locked my knees, bit my lip, and peed down my leg, right there in the middle of the arena.”

“‘m’sorry.”

“Not as sorry as Peltasion. He was not watching what was going on and stepped in it. My coach hurried over and pulled me back off the field. That was the day I learned why we brought spare uniforms to the meets. I somehow managed to finish, but I earned the not very awesome nickname of Puddles for the remainder of my time with that team.” Fingon pulled the blankets up a little closer and put his arm around Erestor comfortingly. “So I am not going to judge you for what happened. There are times we just lose control of things no matter how hard we try not to.”

“I just wish I was normal,” muttered Erestor as he fell asleep.

“I know,” whispered Fingon. He frowned as he kissed Erestor’s head again, and slept lightly with Erestor snuggled against him until the afternoon. It was Erestor who awoke first, and upon full realization of the events of the previous night and early morning, excused himself quickly in order to bathe properly and avoid conversation. 

Fingon stayed in bed for more than a score of minutes before he slowly gathered clothing for both of them and retrieved towels. Initially, he thought Erestor would be outside, but he was directed by Glorfindel to the washroom on the lower floor instead. It turned out that Gildor, upon discovering the hot spring, stayed there for several hours, leaving it only to eat a late breakfast. Maedhros preferred to bask in the sun, but joined Gildor for a bit before they ate. “Lunch is really more of an early supper,” said Glorfindel as Fingon walked back to the washroom to find Erestor.

Fingon knocked on the door, but found it to be slightly ajar and let himself in. “Did Glorfindel tell you what Gildor said about the spring?” Fingon set down the stack of clothing and towels before he untied the sash of his robe. Erestor was already in the tub, which was devoid of the bubbles he usually insisted upon when bathing indoors. When Erestor did not answer, Fingon closed the door and locked it, and then draped his robe across the back of the chair. “Gildor threatened never to leave. I think I am just so spoiled to have that spring out back.”

Erestor moved his legs so that Fingon could join him, but did not answer. Instead, he reached down and took the soap from a basket next to the tub and began to lather his arms and shoulders.

“I am sorry about last night,” said Fingon once he settled into the other side of the large basin. 

“I am not.” Erestor bent his left knee and started to scrub his feet and between his toes, which always ended up stained with grass from his morning barefoot walks to check on the garden. “It had to happen at some point. At least now we know the truth -- or some of it.”

“I meant the nightmare,” said Fingon.

Erestor nodded and switched to the other leg. “Well. Those happen regardless of other things.” 

Fingon started washing from top down. His hair was full of suds rather quickly, and he washed his own chest and shoulders with practiced efficiency. “I timed myself the other day, and I can bathe now in less than five minutes.”

“I wondered why there was an hourglass on the counter,” admitted Erestor.

Fingon grinned and reached over the side to retrieve a wooden bucket which he filled with water and dumped over his head. He repeated the action twice more, then poked a finger into one ear to clear out the water. Erestor was only just finishing with his torso. Only the lower part of his hair was damp from skimming through the water, and Fingon motioned that Erestor should turn around and come closer to him.

At first, Erestor sat very straight, situated between Fingon’s legs, but Fingon bent his knees and eased Erestor down with gentle pressure on his shoulder until Erestor was angled, head against Fingon’s chest and the water almost covering his shoulders. Erestor closed his eyes while Fingon alterated between kneading his fingers against Erestor’s scalp and firmly massaging his shoulders. As the suds began to slide past Erestor’s ears and down his chin, Fingon cupped one hand around the back of Erestor’s neck and rubbed away the tension, and used his other hand to drag the soap in a lazy trail over Erestor’s skin under the water.

Two passes were made near Erestor’s groin before he nodded his head. Fingon set the soap on the bottom of the tub next to his own hip and retrieved the bucket from where he left it to bob along the surface. Very gently, he eased Erestor’s head back so that he could wash the soap from his hair without getting it or the water on Erestor’s face. Once Fingon was satisfied, he lowered the bucket back to the floor next to the tub and retrieved the soap again.

The first change came in the form of Erestor’s breathing, increasing rapidly after Fingon’s hand was underwater. The fingertips of Fingon’s free hand danced along Erestor’s shoulder and found their way to his throat, and then down to his chest, and breathing became panting. The water rippled and lapped at the side of the basin while Erestor gripped Fingon’s knees, thighs, anything to keep himself anchored. 

Simple kisses turned to nuzzles and nips. Erestor braced his feet against the basin as Fingon ran his tongue around the curve of Erestor’s ear. “Shhhhhhh…” 

Erestor set his jaw, muscles tensed. His muffled whimpers were heard only to Fingon, who drew his arm around Erestor diagonally, hand tight on his shoulder to pull him close. His other hand had yet to resurface, and now Erestor flailed an arm and clung to the side of the basin with it. His legs stretched all the way out for a few moments, and then as the very end of a suppressed groan escaped, his body was limp.

Fingon kissed several times behind Erestor’s ear. “I love you, Beautiful.”

Erestor shifted just enough to the right so that he could press his lips against Fingon’s. “Thank you.”

With a gentle shake of his head, Fingon ran his hand over Erestor’s arm. “You do not need to thank me for that.”

“I know.” Erestor kissed Fingon again before he clarified, “Thank you for reminding me of the things that actually matter.”

\----

The majority of the week consisted of visits to all of the best places to eat, watch shows, and have fun. In six days, the group managed to see a total of four plays, two musicals, a dance performance (which Fingon critiqued the entire time purely with facial expressions), a hog race, a pony show, and a lecture on Tengwar modality (which Gildor only fell asleep during once). Glorfindel and Maedhros also made it back to the arena to see three additional jousts, while Erestor and Fingon wandered with Gildor to different pubs, or, if it was early enough, shopped at the market (though always when this was the case, Fingon kept hold of Erestor’s hand and did not dare suggest they split up).

On this last afternoon together, Gildor insisted upon a little time with his “Rivendell Comrades”. Erestor rolled his eyes at this, but when Gildor further suggested the time be spent in the garden, it took little to persuade Erestor to show off the crops he was so proud of growing, and how he had managed to structure it all without disturbing natural habitats of creatures living there, working around established trees and incorporating broken pottery found in a heap in the back into a pathway between the vegetables and the small patch of pipeweed.

That meant that Maedhros and Fingon were left alone inside the house, though neither had said anything to the other in over an hour. Maedhros sat at the table playing solitaire, with the curtains pulled back so that he could watch the trio in the garden. Nearby, Fingon was preparing an early supper so that they could get to bed early and avoid missing the ship that would take them back to the mainland. 

A mushroom rolled off of the counter, and Fingon cursed it. Maedhros looked up, smirked, and went back to his game. A moment later, Fingon berated an onion. “Really, Fin, what did they ever do to you?”

Fingon blew at the lock of hair that had flipped down across one eye. “Their mere existence perturbs me.”

“If that is the case, you should find a different line of work.”

“Glorfindel usually cooks,” answered Fingon.

“Ah.” Now that the ice was broken, Maedhros turned his attention away from his game. “So what are you making?”

Fingon shrugged and chopped the onion. “Just something I had in mind the other day, but we have been eating in town so much I only had the chance now.”

“But what is it?” Maedhros abandoned his game. The trio outside were sitting on the stone wall talking and laughing, and were generally uninteresting at the moment. Maedhros furrowed his brow when he saw the deboned pieces of chicken on the cutting board. “Gildor said you do not cook poultry.”

“I will not eat it,” corrected Fingon as he continued to slice vegetables and fight against the wisps of hair that tried to block his view. “I can still cook it.”

Maedhros looked around at the ingredients sitting out. He picked up one of the jars of spices and sniffed at it. “You used to make this for me whenever you thought I was mad at you.”

Fingon shrugged.

“Because it was my favorite and you knew that.” Maedhros set the jar down. “This was not an accident.”

Fingon shrugged again, and then blew at a tuft of particularly stubborn hair.

“Come here. That is making me crazy. You are probably getting hair in the food.” Instead, Maedhros went to stand behind Fingon. “Hold still,” he said, and Fingon tried not to move too much as he continued to slice mushrooms. “Put the knife down for one moment,” directedly Maedhros with exasperation. Once Fingon did so, Maedhros began to weave, slowly but surely, a crown atop Fingon’s head from the hair that was available to work with. “Long, short, does not matter, you never seem to have control of this hair of yours.”

“It has a mind of its own,” replied Fingon.

“So we can still agree sometimes.” Maedhros tried to hurry, which made some of his work a bit loose, but in the end he managed to tame the dark locks. “You can probably cover up my mistakes with some flowers or something.”

Fingon shook his head slightly to test Maedhros’ work, but the braids stayed in place. “Thank you,” he said as he picked up the knife again.

Maedhros nodded as he came around to stand beside Fingon and assess the situation. “Can I help?” he finally asked.

Without hesitation, Fingon said, “You can make the salad.” He set the knife down and took a basket down from a hook on the ceiling. “Go out and tell Erestor you need lettuce, cucumbers, and whatever else is in season that you want. Then when you return, get a big bowl, wash it all, cut it up and--”

“I know how to make salad.” Maedhros stuck out his tongue and added, “Maybe I should be directing here. You cannot even keep your hair in place, and then you think you need to give me step by step instructions on salad making.”

The was a hint of playfulness in Maedhros’ eyes, so Fingon continued with, “Well, I heard that the older one gets, the more they forget…”

“Did you just call me old?”

“...and we are always told to respect our elders…”

“You did call me old!”

“...age before beauty, all of that…”

“And I was so nice to fix your hair for you.”

“Sure, after you practically accused me of shedding into the food.”

Maedhros opened his mouth to offer a comeback, but he paused. Instead, he hung the basket on his right arm and said before departing for the garden, “I missed your sassy mouth.”

Fingon smiled to himself and continued to slice the mushrooms. He was beginning to brown the chicken when Maedhros returned. He had lettuce and cucumbers, a pair of striped tomatoes, and a handful of peas. There were also some purple flowers, which Fingon recognized as the blossoms from the chives. He started to laugh as Maedhros set the remainder of the basket aside and washed the chive blossoms carefully before he stepped behind Fingon again and told him to stand still.

“That is garnish,” Fingon declared as Maedhros tucked the little puffs of purple into the uneven gaps of the braided crown.

“It should be fine. I have heard tales of Elven-kings with edible crowns,” he said as he continued his work.

Fingon sighed and resisted the urge to shake his head. “I would prefer not to have anyone gnaw on my head.”

Maedhros laughed as he tucked the final flower in between the thick, dark strands. “There. You are now properly crowned, your majesty.”

“Excellent. That means you may now return to your saladry duties.”

“Saladry? That is the best you have?” teased Maedhros as he walked back to the basket.

“You said it yourself. I am a king, and as king, I am not required to explain myself.”

“Your pardon, your majesty,” said Maedhros, and he bowed low. “How forgetful of me. I shall try to do better in my elderly state. You know how us old people are…”

“And how,” replied Fingon. He and Maedhros worked on their separate tasks for a time, until Maedhros came back to where Fingon was working so that he could find the salt. He paused behind Fingon long enough for Fingon to pause and look to his right just as Maedhros took hold of one of the flowers in his teeth and nibbled on it. “Hey now! Stop it, by order of the king, you shall not eat my crown!”

“Just a taste,” teased Maedhros, and he had to select another to chew on.

“Stahhhhp.” Fingon set his spoon down to bat at Maedhros. Maedhros took a step back, then grinned and booped Fingon on the nose with the stump of his right wrist. Fingon shook his head as Maedhros gave him an innocent look. The two looked at each other a moment and then burst out laughing.

Outside at the hammock, Gildor stretched his neck and squinted. “Do you think everything is alright in there?” he asked. He was glad that Maedhros had drawn back the curtain earlier, for it meant that he was able to keep track of what was happening indoors. 

Erestor looked up and watched for a moment. At first, it looked like Fingon was playing keep-away with the salt and it seemed rather mean, but then he saw that Maedhros had a grin on his face, and Fingon’s spoon behind his back. “I think they are playing,” he said.

“Oh!” Gildor hopped off the hammock and came to stand where Erestor was. “Playing is acceptable?”

“Of course. It is the Cottage of Lost--whoa!” Erestor flailed, arms, waving wildly as he fought to keep his footing, but he lost the battle and fell backwards into the spring. 

Gildor shrugged at Glorfindel, who rushed to the edge of the water. “You pushed him in!” shouted Glorfindel as Erestor surfaced and shook his head, sending a spray of water droplets at them.

“What? No…. I was a--- hey!” Gildor was soon the second victim, as Erestor used the distraction to get hold of his ankle and pull him in. He splashed around and chuckled. “Your turn, Finde!”

“Absolutely not,” said Glorfindel. He took a cautious step back from the spring. 

“Fine… help me back out, then,” said Gildor as he held a hand up. Glorfindel sighed and shook his head as he approached and crouched down, hand held out.

“Wait, Fin, n...evermind.” Erestor’s warning came too late, and soon Glorfindel was with them in the water. “I tried to warn you,” said Erestor, but Glorfindel had his attention on Gildor.

“You.” Glorfindel pointed at Gildor. 

Gildor grinned and shrugged. “Oops?”

Glorfindel crooked a finger at Gildor, who smiled and shook his head.

Erestor took a moment to pull his sopping shirt over his head. He threw it at the hammock, where it landed with a slapping noise. “You forget something, Gildor.”

Gildor turned his head. “What is--- ackk!” 

“Two against one,” announced Erestor once Gildor resurfaced from being tackled by Glorfindel.

“So that is how you are going to play it,” said Gildor, and he looked to the house and gave one of his sharp whistles. Immediately, both Maedhros and Fingon turned to look, and Gildor motioned wildly. The pair inside the house hurried outside. “Timo, I need help, darling! These two brutes pushed me in here!”

“Totally not true,” argued Glorfindel. “He pulled me in!”

“Darling, they have won the battle, but I must win the war!” Gildor dodged out of the way as Erestor swiped water from the surface at him.

Maedhros pulled off his shirt and shoes and dived in without a second thought. He surfaced and looked around. “Gildor? Either of these two ticklish?” Immediately, Glorfindel’s eyes widened and he pushed away, leaving Erestor between Gildor and Maedhros.

“I just want to remind both of you that I… practically helped to raise you,” said Erestor as he tried to dodge around, but found his options limited.

“That actually makes this much more enjoyable,” said Maedhros as he lunged at Erestor and wrestled him under the water.

Fingon was already stripping off the clothing he deemed unacceptable for bathing, and now slid into the water without notice by anyone except Glorfindel. He took a deep breath and disappeared under the water. A few seconds later, Maedhros and Erestor resurfaced. 

That was when Gildor noticed it. “Wait, where did--” And down he went just before Fingon bobbed back up.

“Hey, now!” Maedhros blinked and looked shocked. Once Gildor was above water again, Maedhros pointed at Fingon and proclaimed, “You cannot swim!”

“Erestor taught me, so, nyah.” Fingon stuck his tongue out at Maedhros.

Maedhros answered by swiping his arm across the surface, drenching Fingon, but also, Gildor. “Oops. Sorry, puppy.”

“Oh… he calls you puppy?” Fingon put his hand over his mouth. “I have no idea why I find that so adorable.”

“It just happened and stuck,” said Gildor, and he preened a little.

“So cute,” said Fingon as he looked between Gildor and his cousin. “Not cute enough to stop me from doing this, though!” And Fingon grabbed hold of Gildor’s waist and pulled him down underwater with him.

It was midnight before they ate, outside under the stars, sopping wet, where it was decided by those who ate it that the chicken Fingon made was still good even cold, and garnish stored in one’s hair could be quite convenient.

As they all retired for the night, Gildor bemoaning the expected lack of beauty sleep, Maedhros stopped Fingon on the stairway. “It looks good,” he said.

Fingon furrowed his brow and looked around. “The… painting?” he guessed, for one of Glorfindel’s works was displayed on the wall nearby.

“Your hair, you bufflehead. Most people could not pull it off. You have a good face for it,” explained Maedhros. “I think I just have such a… standard image of you in my mind, that it upset me. But, you know, none of that should upset me.”

“But it does -- a little?” inquired Fingon, and Maedhros shrugged.

“Maybe,” he replied.

Fingon gave a slight nod. “So maybe you actually did care about me just a tiny bit,” he said.

“Maybe I do,” Maedhros finally said. “Anyhow, you look good. It suits you. You really do look like a king like that.”

“Thank you,” Fingon finally said.

“Now kiss!” called out a high-pitched voice, undoubtedly from Gildor, still at the top of the stairs around the corner.

“Absolutely NOT,” said Fingon firmly as Maedhros shook his head and called up, “Did you want to test out the couch before we left?”

Gildor peeked around the corner. “Oh, fine. Ruin my fun.” He beckoned Maedhros up, and the red-head complied.

A hand gently touched Fingon’s shoulder, and he turned his head to see Erestor, and just behind him, Glorfindel. “Shall we retire for the night, your majesty?”

“A wise idea,” Fingon said. Erestor began to place his foot upon the next step, but Fingon put out his arm. “Oh, beg pardon, I forgot - there is a toll to be exacted for use of the king’s stairway.”

“A toll?” questioned Erestor as he tilted his head. “I was not aware of any sort of toll.”

“Nor I,” said Glorfindel with a smile.

Fingon smiled and tapped Erestor on the nose. “A kiss. Did you not hear the court jester?”

“I heard that!” shouted Gildor merrily from the upper level. “And I approve and resemble that statement!”

The comment went unheard by the king and his loyal subjects as he collected his due before they retired for the night.

\----

“We would really and truly love to have all of you stay with us next year,” said Gildor as he stood near the dock with the inhabitants of the cottage. Maedhros was waiting by the boat to direct the placement of luggage and fend off rambunctious seagulls. Gildor made his way down the line, beginning with Glorfindel, whom he hugged tightly. “It was so good to spend this time together! Next time I will plan better so that we can see one of the musicals.”

“I will keep track of the upcoming performances,” promised Glorfindel.

Gildor kissed Glorfindel on both cheeks before he moved next to Fingon, and embraced him as well. “Now that I am aware of our mutual love of letter writing, I am expecting at least a dozen this year.”

“I think I can keep up with that,” said Fingon, and he gave a nod of his head in direction of the docks and cleared his throat. “You improve him,” he said.

Gildor beamed. “That means a lot, Fingon.” He hugged him gently again before kissing his cheeks at well. “Thank you.” He moved along to Erestor, and took hold of his hands at first. “I know it is asking much of you, but it would be splendid if you would consider writing me just once a year.”

Erestor rolled his eyes slightly and shook his head. “I suppose I could do that.”

“I promise to write back.” Gildor squeezed Erestor’s hands and said, “Please let them take care of you. You were more than I could handle back when I found you, but I think you know that I would have healed you if I could. There is no reason to keep suffering.”

“I know,” said Erestor as he bowed his head. 

Gildor squeezed Erestor’s hands again. “If you know, then stop being such a mule.” He gave Erestor a hug and managed one kiss on the cheek before there was a sudden noise and an outburst from the crowd that made them all look to the center of the commotion.

“--and I hope they toss you in steerage!” was all they caught of what Maedhros shouted at someone on the ground.

“What is going--- oh!” Gildor bounded around onlookers to get to Maedhros, and once beside him, he almost helped the person on the ground up. 

Almost.

“Lord Faelion! What a surprise! I did not know we were to have the pleasure of sharing a ship back!” Gildor now noted the blood on Maedhros’ hand and focused on this instead. “Here, let me see,” he said, his voice changing from a merry taunt to cautious worry.

The purser was led through by another traveler who had seen the incident, and she put her hands upon her hips and looked over the scene. “Alright. What happened here?”

The din that arose caused the purser to blow a whistle. She turned back to the woman who summoned her. “What did you see?”

“The big man was just standing by his bags, and the little man shoved past the line to cut in front of my wife, and the big man told him the line was in the back and the little man ignored him. So then my wife shoved in front of the little man, and he said something like ‘do you know who I am’, and she said something I am not going to repeat, and then the big man came over to offer assistance, but my wife said she had it under control, so the big man turned to leave. And that was when the little man shouted ‘yeah, shove off, cripple’ and then this happened,” she said as she motioned to the ground.

“Is that about right?” asked the purser. “You,” she pointed at Faelion, “were disrespectful, and you,” she pointed at Maedhros, “retaliated with physical violence?”

Before either could answer, another elleth stepped forward and said, “I think it was more that the one on the ground rammed his face into the fist of the taller one. Clearly, his face attacked his hand.”

Gildor turned to whisper to Fingon, who had made his way through the crowd first of his companions. “Whaaaaat was that?”

“She is trying to keep you on the ship,” whispered Fingon back. “Any time something like this happens, they usually toss all parties off.”

“Well shit, that means you will be stuck with Mr. Prick still here,” hissed Gildor back. “As for us, I would not mind staying an extra few days.”

The purser waved an arm to silence the crowd again. “You can appeal to the Captain, but as for my verdict, I am done ferrying you and your attitude across the sea.” She blew three times sharply on her whistle and a valet ran forward. “Please make sure none of Lord Faelion’s belongings are aboard.”

“What? I already paid in full! You cannot leave me here!” Faelion growled as the valet dragged a trunk from the dock and dumped it next to Faelion. “What am I to do with this? My coach left already!” He wiped at his bloody nose with the back of his hand before he looked up at the dispersing crowd and pointed up in general at the five peering down at him. “This is not over. I will have revenge.”

Maedhros cracked the knuckles of his left hand. “Do you really want to threaten me?” He stood tall, then lunged slightly. Faelion flinched and covered his head. “Get out of here before I finish what I started,” he warned, and Faelion stumbled to his feet and took hold of his trunk, which he dragged off to the side of the road and left a trail red droplets on the ground.

“That was amazing,” said Gildor once Faelion was across the road and out of earshot.

Maedhros spat on his knuckles to clean off the blood. “Thank you.”

Gildor, who had been looking to the remaining elves at the dock, suddenly looked up. “Oh! Oh, you were even more amazing,” he said. “But that!” He waved a hand at the pair of ladies now boarding. “Did you hear her? It was ‘my wife, my wife, blah blah blah’, and no one pulled a face or gave her an odd look.”

“I suppose not,” realized Maedhros.

“People here do not seem to care about that. I mean… while we do not go shouting it to the whole island, there are a fair number of people who know a bit about our relationship,” said Glorfindel as he motioned from himself to Erestor and then to Fingon. “As long as whatever you do is not something that is going to hurt someone else, everyone is pretty accepting.”

Gildor grasped Maedhros’ arm and dug his fingers in. “I want--”

“Yes.” Maedhros paused. His gaze flicked over to Fingon. “Only if he says yes,” he amended.

Fingon looked from one to the other. “What am I agreeing to?”

Nearby, the horn of the ship sounded. One final call was issued, and all five hurried to the dock. “Living here. I want to live here. Not with all of you,” said Gildor. “It would be nice to visit -- and do not be surprised if you go out one day and find me in your hot spring! But do keep watch for a nice little place for us.”

“Only if Fingon says--”

“Yes.” Fingon reached out to touch Maedhros’ shoulder once they were assembled at the dock. “We can talk more later, but I will personally look into the possibility of a residence for you here.”

“We need to. Talk, that is,” said Maedhros. The purser called out to them personally. “We need to go.”

Fingon nodded and lowered his arm. 

Gildor ran about hugging everyone again (including Maedhros, just because) and bowed to the purser as he crossed the deck (and was scolded by her for running). Maedhros was far less rushed, and he said his brief farewells to Erestor and Glorfindel before he turned finally to Fingon. He looked uncertain about hugging as he had with the others, and so he reached out and touched Fingon’s shoulder as Fingon had to him. “I will write,” he said.

Fingon nodded. “So will I.”

Maedhros gave a solid nod, patted Fingon’s shoulder, and walked down the pier to join Gildor on the ship. A minute later, long poles were used to shove away from the dock, and Maedhros lifted a hand in farewell while Gildor blew those on the shore kisses until they were out of sight.

Soon the three were alone, and Glorfindel linked an arm with each. “Property here is expensive,” he reminded them. “If we find something, we may need to find a way to purchase it for them. Nothing is ever available long.”

“We should speak with Cirdan,” said Erestor. “He tends to know when land comes available. I should think they would not want anything too large, though. We can also look for shoppes with living quarters above. I should think that Maedhros would want a place to sell rope and gems and whatever else he makes these days.”

“He would do well here selling rope,” said Glorfindel. “There are very few ropers here.”

Erestor snapped the fingers of his free hand. “We could plant hemp! We could supply the materials, and he could make the rope!”

“Maybe instead of finding a place for them to live, we should just build a house on the land we already have,” suggested Fingon.

Glorfindel raised a brow. “You would be alright with Maedhros being so close? Not just a neighbor -- he would be right there, and you know that means Gildor will be in that spring all the time, and I know that is your sanctuary.”

“I can share,” said Fingon. He looked at his companions and smiled. 

There was silence shared as they continued to walk home, but Erestor’s steps were uneasy. He finally broke the verbal fast by uttering, “I want to talk to both of you about something when we get home.”

Fingon broke away from Glorfindel so that he could come around and flank Erestor on the other side. “We can find somewhere now if you do not want to wait.”

“NO. I mean, no thank you. I want to be at home.” Erestor took a deep breath as Fingon wound an arm around his waist and Glorfindel nuzzled his cheek. “I have a lot of things. I may not get to them all tonight. Gildor is right. I tried to bury so many things, but they have been eating my soul from the inside out.”

They continued to walk along together, with Glorfindel and Fingon exchanging glances back and forth until they were heading up the path with the faded sign and the familiar landmarks. It was then that Fingon said, “I have a theory.” When no one asked him to explain further, he did so on his own. “So, I have studied some of the things that happened in Middle-earth after I, ah, exited not on my own terms, and what I realized is that in general we, Elves that is, are not prone to rebuilding things. If something bad happens, we abandon it. We never try to recover and start anew. We just go do something somewhere else. I think that might be because we feel as if we need to cling to what was there. We cannot bear to tear whatever is left down and build a new foundation in that place.”

Erestor was chewing on his lip, and Glorfindel listened as well, and now commented, “Places like Eregion were just left in ruin. There was no way to rebuild them from the rubble, but, that is true, as Fingon said, no one wanted to establish a foundation to work from.”

“In the case of Glorfindel and I,” continued Fingon, “we literally had to start over. Now, what I am not suggesting is that you follow that method. I do not want that,” said Fingon firmly. “To be honest, I have no idea if I am even making sense.”

“I have a shitty foundation,” paraphrased Erestor. “Instead of trying to wrap bandages around things that have already fallen apart, you are suggesting just… starting over somehow.”

It was Glorfindel who spoke next. “I think there are still a lot of things, a lot of trauma that needs to be… broken down before you can repair.”

“I would beg to differ that the foundation is the support -- us, for instance -- and all of the events of your life are what you are trying to support. The reason everything is crumbling is because you insist on being your own foundation, and you are sinking. And we want to be there for you. We want to support you,” said Fingon as he stopped walking. They could see the cottage ahead, but Erestor was dragging his feet, and now Fingon lifted his hand and drew his fingers under Erestor’s eyes to catch the silent tears. “Do you know what kept me from going mad when I came back here, after Beleg left?” Fingon had tears in his eyes now as he placed his hands upon Erestor’s cheeks. “You. It was all of you that helped to pull me back, but you were there even when it was not convenient, even when it ruined your plans. You all said you loved me, but you showed me how much you do.”

“I feel as if I still have a lot to prove,” said Glorfindel, who had a hand settled on Erestor’s shoulder. “And Fingon and I will be supportive of you and whatever you need, but we do not want you to feel as if you have to be the one to carry this burden on your own. Please let us help you. I know you do not want to ask, so I will ask. Erestor, may we share these burdens with you?”

“Without judgement, without restriction,” added Fingon as he moved his hands to Erestor’s arms. “If I could, I would go back and take it all away. Please, let us fight your demons with you.”

Erestor blinked his watery eyes and sniffled. “I just did not want to be a burden.”

“That is not possible,” said Fingon. “We love you too damned much.” He emphasized this by kissing Erestor twice, slowly, his hands moving to brush back the dark, silky hair. “I love you, Eres. I welcome your trials as my own.”

Erestor gave a shaky nod. “Alright,” he answered in a terrified voice. He looked at Glorfindel, as if he waited for confirmation from him as well. Glorfindel nodded and lifted himself on the tips of his toes to kiss Erestor as well. “Alright. But…”

“Yes? What is it, sweetheart?” asked Fingon.

“Maybe not tonight.”

Fingon caressed Erestor’s cheek. “Not tonight,” he agreed, and Glorfindel put an arm around each of his companions. “Tomorrow, though, lover. We continue to watch you suffer, and it hurts our hearts when we know we could ease the pain.”

“Tomorrow,” repeated Erestor. He touched each of them on the cheek in turn and nodded. “Tomorrow.”


End file.
